Marriage
by goodgirl-astray
Summary: After the Great War, the Game re-started. With House Stark's influence spreading, Arya needs Sansa's to marry the man she loves after her husband died. To avoid that her sister's marriage start a war, Sansa goes to Casterly Rock. Her visit is a chance for her to find peace, healing, maybe even love. Eventual smut for Sansa and Tyrion, and for Arya and Sandor.
1. Sansa POV, Sandor POV

**NOTE**

Tyrion is Hand of the Queen, but he spends a lot of time in Casterly Rock. Jon is acting Hand when Tyrion is not in the Capital.

This story happens 2 years after chapter 8 of "Maiden". You don't need to read the Arya/Sandor smutty story if you don't want to.

SPOILERS for chapter 8 of "Maiden".

 _ **What you need to know** _is that at the end of their quest, after Arya killed the undead dragon Viserion, she has to marry Lord Redwyne, who rules the Arbor all the way in the South of the Seven Kingdoms and who has the only fleet available. House Stark is sworn to help Danaerys and Jon to the Iron Throne, so they need to provide a fleet to carry their troops. Arya marries the old lord to secure the alliance between House Redwyne and House Stark.

* * *

 **Sansa**

Spring came to Westeros with a slew of problems. Sometimes when the annoyance reached high enough levels, she tended to snap at people. The Wardeness of the North cut short her meeting with one of her lords before she said something she shouldn't.

It didn't do anyone any good to show her irritation, most of all to Sansa herself who at such moments she heard Petyr's voice most loudly.

'Calm yourself, sweetling. This man is under your power. Don't change his loyalty into resentment.'

'Fuck off, Lord Baelish.'

She almost laughed at the formality with which she addressed her two years dead mentor.

She retired to her sewing room, alone, and started working on another dress. She wasn't even wearing all of them, but needle and thread worked wonders when it came to soothing her nerves.

She was anxious about the administrative problems of Winterfell, and downright annoyed about the looming shadow of a scuffle with the Warden of the South. The Reach, who had not borne the hardships of the Great War, had the audacity to threaten her to withhold grains if she didn't agree to pay more for them.

She was tempted to change the politics of the East, and increase what the South paid for the fruits and other things they got from the Vale of Arryn. As long as Sweetrobin was Lord of the Eyrie, Sansa controlled the East. She held more power in her hand than the South and West combined.

The more accustomed she got to wielding power, the more she thought back at Petyr's teachings.

A timid knock on the door interrupted her musings.

"Enter."

"A raven from the Arbor, my lady," the young maid said.

"Thank you, Elayne," she said dismissing the girl.

Sansa opened the message immediately. Arya's letters were one of the few joys of her dreary life. Their correspondence over the years had brought them closer than either of them expected. But ravens were never good news. If her sister needed to send her a quick message, something big had happened.

From the first words, Sansa jumped to her feet.

"She's coming home!"

She ran out of her room, reading and rereading Arya's message. Old Lord Redwyne had died peacefully, in his sleep.

When it had become clear that Lord Redwyne and Arya were not going to have children, they had adopted Rickon and made him heir to the Arbor, with the condition that he would marry into another Great House from the South. Rickon married into another formal vassal of House Tyrell, and he was beloved by the people of the Arbor as if he was a Redwyne by blood, not by law. Arya had made sure of that.

Rickon was the new Lord Redwyne, and Arya's wifely duties were over. She was on a ship headed north.

Although her sister was still days away, Sansa shook all the Winterfell staff out of their lull, preparing for her arrival more thoroughly than when the Queen and her husband announced that their dragons would be landing outside the walls the next day.

It was late into the night when Sansa retired to her chamber. A small stack of books waited for her on the bed. The maids had learned to put them back after they made her bed. Inside the topmost book, Tyrion's latest letter waited half read.

Sansa's correspondence with her ex-husband was almost as dear to her as the one with her sister. Arya's letters were always full of action and adventure – she had made the most out of being married to the Head of the House with the largest commercial fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion's letters were full of ideas and emotions. He was the only man who could still make her laugh. She missed that.

 _It took me two years, but I finally resolved to deal with the sewage system of the castle. Too many people know how to get into Casterly Rock, and no one tried since I moved in. It put a serious dent in my self-esteem._

She smiled. Not so long ago, Tyrion Lannister was wanted dead by many Great Houses, starting with his own.

She had a drawer full of half finished letters in which she told him she wanted to visit him. If Petyr hadn't interfered, she'd be the lady of Casterly Rock. She never sent those letters.

In her dreams, Petyr sometimes threw her through the moon door when she sent the letter to Tyrion. Or when she set her foot inside Casterly Rock, Ramsay showed up instead of Tyrion, smiling. Either way, she woke up screaming.

 _I saw autumn and winter in Winterfell. I reach for a thicker cloak just thinking about that weather. I hope spring is treating you kindly, my lady._

Pages and pages between them over the years, and even with Littlefinger's thorough training, Sansa couldn't find a single attempt of manipulation from Tyrion in those letters. The never talked politics or economy. The mention of a wedding between Houses, a child born to their vassals or the other Wardens, or the passing comment about the harvest were as close as they ever got.

 _Ser Sandor is doing wonders with the orphans. The Cleganes have bread hounds for decades, but this one seems to be training wolves. You were right about him, my lady. He has changed much since he was Joffrey's dog._

How many years had passed since the time both she and Sandor were bound to that monster?

* * *

 **Sandor**

He sat silent in his corner of the tavern while the boys around him made crude but harmless jokes. They were laughing. They acted like brothers, though no two of them shared a mother or a father as far as they knew.

Like real brothers. Not like him and Gregor. He sometimes wondered why he had brought his brother's bones back. Why he buried him in their cemetery, next to their father.

When he retired to Keep Clegane, all he wanted was to set up the kennel again, and provide Lord Tyrion with the best hunting dogs in the Seven Kingdoms.

He was good with animals. He'd always preferred them to people. And now he was surrounded by boys who could be his sons if he hadn't spent most of his youth avoiding the company of women.

Spring weather didn't agree with him. The rains were good for harvest, but they made his joints ache. The sudden silence at the table drew him out of his thoughts.

A tavern wench stood next to him, with a pitcher of ale her hands. The way the boys looked at her, she must be young and pretty. He didn't raise his eyes above her waist. She was slender and her narrow hips reminded him of Arya.

He held out his cup and looked at her while she poured. She was young and pretty and definitely not Arya. She flustered when he thanked her gruffly.

"That one likes you, Ser," one of the boys said.

Sandor didn't bother replying. The people of the Keep had received him with the fear inspired in them by Gregor, but they ended up treating him like a war hero all too soon. Being popular didn't sit well with him. They were asking his opinion about anything from crops to marriages. All had started when took in the boys and started teaching them.

He huffed. He should have turned away that first orphan boy who ended up at his door, starved and beaten half to death. Across the table from him, that boy looked at him, respect and gratitude shining in his big brown eyes.

He left them to enjoy the ale and each other's company. He wanted to instill in them a spirit of camaraderie that usually lacked from any army had ever been a part of. He remained outside the inn after passing water.

He looked up into the clear sky. Full moon tonight.

"Why did you never marry?"

The girl who served him beer stepped out of the shadow as if she had been at one with them. His heart lurched with the memory of Arya's stealthy movements.

"Go back inside, girl," he said, turning his eyes back to the sky.

"Don't you like women?" she asked.

Brazen little thing. But he ignored her, like he would ignore a pup that yapped at him in the yard.

"You always come in alone," she said. "You never take anyone to bed."

He turned his head to look at her again. He squinted in the pale moonlight, trying to remember her from any other visits to the tavern.

"I haven't seen you here before," he said.

"You haven't seen me," she said, and sat down next to him on the bale of hay. "But I saw you."

He must be getting old. She was pretty enough, and the resemblance to Arya should have stuck in his mind. Even the swell of her breast as he looked down into her shirt reminded him of her.

"What do you want, girl?" he asked.

"A husband."

He laughed. "Plenty of boys inside who would have you."

"I don't want a boy. I want a man."

That got to him a little. It would be so easy to take what she offered. Bed her. Maybe even marry her. Who was he saving himself for anyway? Lady Arya Redwyne?

"Run away now. You're bothering me."

She touched the back of his hand with her fingers. "I hope so."

"I'm in no mood for games," he said swatting her hand away. "Take care who you offer yourself next time. Someone worse than me will take more than you're offering."

He left her there, ignoring the way his body reacted to her proximity. Maybe he should take a wife. Not this slip of a girl. A woman who could handle him.

He didn't have to love the wench. He'd be kind to her and she'd warm his bed. Give him strong, healthy sons.


	2. Sansa POV, Tyrion POV

**NOTE**

Jaime is a White Cloak for the Targaryens, but he's stationed at Casterly Rock to watch over the Hand of the Queen. He's sort of taking Bron's place in Tyrion's entourage. I love Jaime/Brienne and there might be some mentions of this, but I will not start another fanfiction story. I'm happy that there are plenty of Jaime/Brienne stories, and the couple is headcanon for me.

* * *

 **Sansa**

Arya came with more cases of wine from the Arbor than Winterfell had ever seen at one time.

"Did you leave with all their harvest?" Sansa asked, as the two of them watched the men unload the crates.

"There are several vintages in those crates," Arya said. "They might have been a little too eager to send me off.

She spoke seriously, but Sansa detected the glint of humor in her eyes.

"All the castle can get dead drunk for weeks with this."

"Please don't even joke about that," Arya said with exaggerated concern. "If the winemakers heard you, they might declare war. They are very touchy when it comes to wine."

"It's for drinking, isn't it?" Sansa asked, amused at Arya's pretend anxiety.

"That's exactly what I said when I got there!" She rolled her eyes. "Apparently Arbor gold and the other wines are supposed to be savored. I can just about tell apart Arbor wines from Dornish wines."

"You must have been the soul of the party there."

"They liked me well enough because I negotiated good deals in Essos for them."

She wondered what wasn't Arya telling her. If they talked about wine and commerce, it was a clear sign that she was avoiding a topic.

They walked to Sansa's private sewing room. She used it as her precious sanctuary, where she could forget about the responsibilities of her office. Something was on her sister mind if she didn't make any comments about the pile of dresses and sewing materials.

"I expected you to come from White Harbor," Sansa said to break the silence more than anything.

To her surprise, Arya's reaction was an unconvincing shrug.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently. "It's nothing wrong to be sorry your husband is dead even if you didn't love him. And it's not wrong if you're not sorry."

"I didn't kill him."

"Of course not!" Sansa exclaimed.

Her sister's grey eyes held ice and amusement when she looked at her. Eventually, she let out a soft laugh which soothed Sansa's concern.

"Of course not," Arya repeated her words.

"What is it then? You can tell me anything."

"I want to marry again," Arya said simply.

Sansa's jaw dropped.

"Wha-?"

She closed her mouth blushing when Arya laughed at her reaction.

"I need you to work it out for me. I'm born a Stark, and married into the Redwyne House. I don't want to start a war or something."

"Do you want me to find you a husband?" Sansa asked, shocked at the idea.

"No, thank you. Once was enough," Arya said.

The words stung, even if her sister didn't seem bitter.

"I have someone in mind, but I need you to work out the socio-economic-military-political-whatever-the-fuck-else is there to sort out."

Sansa tried to contain the burning curiosity. She never talked to her sister about boys. Their marriages had not been happy topics of conversation. She was dying to know who could possibly have gotten under her sister's tough skin enough to make her look for advice about marriage.

"You run the North, and now Rickon is in charge of a powerful House in the South. I don't want Jon and Danaerys to feel threatened if we marry into the West."

Her heart stopped. Marrying into the West. Could Arya possibly talk of Tyrion? The Hand of the Queen and Warden of the West. Her husband. Ex-husband. But she had never said… In any of her letters or his… Neither of them mentioned the other. Blood drained from her face.

"Fuck, are you ill?" Arya asked, and reached into her belt.

"You still carry potions with you?" Sansa asked looking at her hand.

Arya took her hand away. "Old habits."

"Who do you want to marry?"

"Judging by your reaction, I should forget about it."

"No, it's fine," Sansa said, getting herself under control. "I want you to be happy."

She really meant it. If Tyrion made her happy, and she made him happy, she would be happy for them. Why wouldn't she be? They were dear to her, like Jon and Danaerys. Even more actually.

"Don't laugh at me, all right?" Arya said. "I want to have children. Strong children. Survivors, like us, even if they're born in the long summer."

Sansa hugged her tough little sister. "I would never laugh at you. I don't care who you marry if that's your choice. The world needs more people like you."

"So, you wouldn't mind if I married Sandor Clegane?"

For the second time that day, which also meant for the second time in ten years, Sansa's jaw dropped.

"Sandor Clegane?"

Arya searched her eyes suspiciously. "Who did you think I was going to say?"

She snapped her mouth closed again.

"Sansa? Is there something **you** 're not telling me?"

* * *

 **Tyrion**

Sansa's letters came by ship or by horse. Never by raven. He steadied his hands before breaking the seal. He couldn't imagine any good news from the North coming by raven.

Maybe she was finally getting remarried. She was surrounded by men who worshipped her. Some for her beauty, others for her name and title. He scoured every letter from her for clues that she looked favorably on one or another of the young noblemen from the North, some Dothraki warrior with long hair and big muscles, or some smooth talking Dornish man.

The note was short and puzzling.

 _"My Lord Warden. I ask your kind permission to visit Casterly Rock. I seek your council as a personal friend and as Hand, regarding a marriage between House Stark and one of your vassals. I would be grateful if Ser Sandor Clegane is at Casterly Rock when I arrive, at the next full moon."_

"What?" he asked aloud.

Jaime looked at him curiously. "What?" he asked Tyrion.

Tyrion stared at him blankly, still thinking about the message. Marriage? House Stark and one of House Lannister's vassals. Sansa was the only unmarried woman of House Stark.

Sandor Clegane?

He read the words again.

"How long until the next full moon?" he asked.

"A few days," Jaime answered. "What's wrong with you?"

"My wife is coming," he said without thinking. "Ex-wife," he corrected himself. "Lady Sansa," he added at Jaime's puzzled look.

The knowing look on his brother's face told him that he should compose himself before summoning the servants. It didn't do for the Hand of the Queen to look flustered.

He read the note again and gave up trying to make sense of it beyond what it plainly said. Sansa was coming to Casterly Rock to marry Sandor Clegane. He handed it to Jaime whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Your wife," he said, but he corrected under Tyrion's sharp glare, "Your ex-wife and Sandor Clegane? How did that happen?"

Tyrion thought back at the time when he was acting of the Hand of another King. It was an unspoken agreement between the two brothers not to talk about Jaime's dead children. Clegane had saved Sansa from the mob. He'd been as kind to her as he could while Joffrey mentally and physically abused her.

But he had seen them both during the War. Sansa had already become the Ice Lady of Winterfell. Clegane had already changed dramatically from his former self. Joffrey's dog.

There had been that time when he left with Arya. Sansa had commented on how much he had changed. At the time, her questions made him think she didn't trust him to take care of her sister. Maybe she was worried for his safety?

"You'll go crazy if you keep turning it in your mind," Jaime said when he failed to answer.

"I…" he started to speak. "It doesn't make sense. Can one work past years of mental and physical torture by going back to someone who made them feel safe?"

He was thinking of Sansa, but he saw the flicker in Jaime's eyes. His big brother had his own issues to work out. Mourning Cersei was a long and painful process and Tyrion wished he could be of more help, but nothing seemed to get Jamie out of his funk. On another chair, Jamie's white cloak reminded both of them of the vows he took for the Targaryens once again.

"We'll just have to wait and see," Jaime said. "How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know," he said. "Fine, I don't want to think about it," he said under Jaime's silent skepticism.

"The Hound was never among my favorite people, but I would pay good money if I can be in the room when you tell him."

Tyrion considered the request. Not the money, since the new gold mines made him the richest man in Westeros.

"Best not. He's a grumpy son of a bitch."

#

Since Sansa's message, Tyrion gave orders to get the castle ready for a wedding without actually saying the word wedding. He heard the servants whisper that their Lord might well take a wife, and that would keep him from staying so much in King's Landing.

The day before the full moon, Sandor Clegane arrived at Casterly Rock. Tyrion could tell he was not pleased to be summoned by his Lord at such short notice. He was looking around disdainfully at the castle staff hanging new drapes in the great hall.

"My Lord," Clegane said with a slight bow of his head.

"Cheerful as ever, I see," Tyrion said. "Come, we have to talk."

He walked briskly toward his council room. He had almost forgotten how big the man was. Taller than Jaime. Broad of shoulders. That limp was barely noticeable any more. With the short-cropped beard, he looked younger than at the end of the War. He almost looked like he had back when they were both in King's Landing. With Sansa.

"Close the door," he said. "Pour yourself some wine."

The finest Gold Arbor vintage, but Clegane looked at the sigil on the label and scowled. He stood there, looking at him sullenly.

"Sit down, man," Tyrion said.

He took a gulp of white wine before he spoke again.

"Lady Sansa Stark will be arriving at Casterly Rock tonight. She had requested your presence here when she arrives. Do you have any idea why that may be?"

He watched his face, trying to guess by his reaction just how far the courtship between the Wardeness of the North and his vassal had gone.

The puzzlement on Clegane's face seemed genuine.

"She **requested** my presence?"

He nodded. The big man shook his head.

"Can't think why," he said.

The Cleganes weren't known for subtlety. But they were known for their loyalty. It had taken wildfire to make Sandor Clegane leave the monstrous King he was serving.

Now for the tricky part.

"You're not married, are you, Clegane?" Tyrion asked, knowing the answer.

Sandor squinted at him.

"You know I'm not."

"But if the opportunity were to come along, you can perform your husbandly duties, right?

He expected Clegane to get angry for having his masculinity questioned by a dwarf, but to his surprise, the big man laughed.

"Are you asking me if I can fuck?"

"Well, you've been wounded in the war. And you didn't take a wife although you're not in the Guard any more to have vows holding you back. You hold land, after all."

He stopped. He didn't have to justify his question.

"Aye, my Lord. I can still fuck."

The touch of irony was unexpected, but it was better than anger. Now that he'd gotten over the delicate part, it was time to give the man the good news. Good? Astonishing, incredible and wonderful news.

"Lady Sansa wishes to marry you."


	3. Sandor POV, Sansa POV, Tyrion POV

**Sandor**

"What?" he asked shocked.

He must have heard wrong. Was the little bastard making fun of him?

No trace of jest or derision on Tyrion's face. Though it was getting increasingly difficult to tell with all the scars.

"Congratulations are in order. Lady Sansa is not just the head of her House, and the Wardaness of the North, but also a wonderful woman. I hope you two will be very happy together."

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, just to stop him from talking.

"All right, Clegane, I don't pretend to understand, but she sent me a raven. And I am informed that her retinue is a few hours away. She will be in the castle before dark."

"Hold on," he said. "That can't be right."

"Read for yourself," Tyrion said and held out a rolled paper.

"It doesn't say she wants to marry me, you daft cunt," he said to his Lord. "She can have a dozen reasons to want me here."

"Like what?" Tyrion asked, unfazed by the insult.

"What do I know what's in a highborn lady's head?"

Tyrion seemed to lighten up a little. His Lord couldn't have been very pleased to know that his ex-wife would marry his kennel master.

"Then who? Who the hell can she want to marry?"

"Fuck if I know," he said, pouring himself a glass of the white wine.

It tasted heavenly despite the sting of the Redwyne sigil on the bottle. Arya's wine. Usually, he'd rather drink rum than wine from her lands, but Tyrion's stupid words had shaken him. It would be just like him to end up breeding with the wrong Stark bitch.

"Just so we're clear," he said after downing the fine wine in one gulp. "If she does want to marry me, my answer is no."

Tyrion spluttered, wine coming out though his nose. "Excuse me?"

"Ya heard me."

"No. I couldn't have. Because it just seemed to me that you said you would not marry one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms."

He leaned back in his chair and looked at Tyrion.

"You think she's beautiful, huh?"

"Like you don't," Tyrion asked. "What's the matter with you, Clegane? If the woman wants you for a husband, you'll pack up and go with her to Winterfell."

"Is that an order, my Lord?" he asked lazily.

It was fun to see the usually carefree and jovial man getting upset. Tyrion always had a joke and a witty remark. He could annoy the hell out of people just by existing, but his brain had saved them more than once. Sandor Clegane had never forgot the battle of Blackwater. The wildfire. The beginning of his second life.

"If it has to be, then yes, it's an order," Tyrion said in a cold, calculated tone.

He shook his head. Would he marry Sansa if Tyrion commanded him? Would Tyrion command him if she asked?

"I'm curious to know why you'd say no to such a proposal," Tyrion said. "But, as you pointed out, she might need you here for another reason. We'll revisit the issue after I talk to her."

* * *

 **Sansa**

They had chosen a small carriage, favoring speed to comfort. When they were informed that they were close to the Lion's Mouth, Sansa put on her formal dress.

"This is still freaking me out," she said while Arya, wearing another girl's face tightened the laces of her dress.

"I'd rather not show my face until I know it's settled," Arya said.

"I'm sure I can work it out with Tyrion. Do you worry he might not want to marry you?"

Arya shrugged. "He's stubborn as fuck," she said. "Hold your breath."

Sansa squealed when Arya pulled on the laces. She had trouble breathing for a few seconds, but soon she settled into the corset.

"How did you talk me into wearing this?"

"By reminding you that you're not Ramsay's widow and you should stop dressing like a raven."

"That still doesn't mean you had to make my breasts almost pop out of the dress."

"You made all dresses," Arya reminded her. "At least they'll see the outside of your closet."

There was no point in telling Arya again that she liked the process of making the dresses. She hadn't thought about ever wearing them. She hardly even tried them on.

Her maids tried them on sometimes, and she considered giving them away, but where would the girls wear such sumptuous materials? Most of them were too flimsy for their northern climate anyway. They were perfect for the sweet spring weather here in the west.

"I bet Tyrion can unlace this in no time," Arya said.

Either Arya suspected that she was nervous about seeing her former husband, or maybe her sister was trying to calm her own nerves with such remarks. Whatever it was, Sansa was in danger of losing her icy composure.

She looked down at her chest again. She hadn't exaggerated. Her breasts were squeezed at the top of her dress, almost popping out. But Arya had been right. She had to stop dressing in black and walk around like she was mourning Ramsay.

She hoped that Tyrion would reassure her that a marriage between Arya Redwyne and Sandor Clegane would not be seen as a mean of expansion for House Stark. If Arya wanted to take Sandor Clegane as her husband, she should be free to do so. She had already done so much in the service of House Stark, and for the good of the Seven Kingdoms. She deserved to have what she wanted.

Sansa couldn't help smiling whenever she thought of her lithe little sister and the massive warrior. They were an unlikely couple, but life had thrown them together. The smile faded when she thought of the unlikely couple she had been with Tyrion. And how she had learned to appreciate him far too late.

The carriage stopped. Arya stuck her head out.

"We're at the gates, m'lady," she said when she got back in.

"Can't wait for you to take that damn thing off," Sansa said.

"At least it's not the face of someone you knew."

A shiver went through her at Arya's words. As if she didn't have enough to be nervous about.

* * *

 **Tyrion**

The carriage entered the inner courtyard. Tyrion's heart beat noticeably faster while the carriage door opened. Jaime and Sandor Clegane stood on at the bottom of the steps, on either side of him,

He waited for her on the steps. He stopped being too concerned about his height long ago, but he wanted to get a good look at her. She had been a beautiful maiden, with big blue eyes and sunny smiles. She had been his child bride whom he tried so hard to ignore. And then, she had been the cold beauty. Black clothes hiding white skin and frozen heart.

The letters they had exchanged for the past few years had made him aware of her sweetness. They increased her beauty in his mind's eye. He wanted to forge a new memory of the real her.

When the door opened, his breath stopped.

She was stunning.

Her features had kept their haunting beauty, but instead of the harshness that war and desperation had put there, a bright smile played on her lips and in her sparkling eyes.

Gone were the black garments she wore at Winterfell. She seemed to have turned back in time, to when she first arrived in King's Landing all those years ago. Except she hadn't filled her dresses like that back then.

"Are you sure you're not still married to her?" Jaime whispered so that only he heard him.

He ignored his brother and went forth to welcome her.

"Lady Sansa, it's a great honor to welcome you to Casterly Rock."

"Thank you, lord Tyrion. This visit is long overdue."

Her smile blinded him. She curtsied a fraction, and he bowed just as little, just as their equal status demanded. Their eyes remained locked throughout the small ritual. He sensed her trying to see into him as much as he was desperate to see into her.

For all those letters they exchanged, now that they met again, it was as if they were restarting their acquaintance from the last time they had seen each other. After both he, and Sansa bent the knee formally in front of the Iron Throne and swore their allegiance to Queen Danaerys, first of Her name, and Prince-Consort Jon of Houses Stark and Targaryen.

"My lady, you know my brother, Jamie, and Ser Sandor Clegane," he said.

Was he imagining it, or Sansa's gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she looked to his left and right? He was watching her intently and he was sure he detected a slight revulsion when she greeted Jamie. It was no mistaking the affection with which she looked at Clegane. Not a heated take-me-now glance, but genuine warmth

He knew what he was doing that night. Getting outrageously drunk as soon as Sansa retired. He made a note to tell his manservant to prepare a hangover cure for that morning. He needed his head clear the next day.


	4. Sansa POV,, Tyrion POV

**Sansa**

"Do you have a larger room in which we could talk?" she asked when the big doors closed behind the last servant.

She was surprised by the twinkle in her own voice. The large audience hall made her uncomfortable. It was too formal for what she wanted to discuss. And yet, they were no longer two rebels plotting to put the rightful Queen on the Iron Throne. They held official positions and although she wanted his advice as a friend, she needed the reassurance of the Hand that the marriage would not stir trouble.

"I built a Dragon pit. But I thought it would be too ostentatious to hold the meeting there."

His voice had a trace of a smile. It glinted in his sad eyes.

'Why are you sad, my Lord?'

No. That was not an appropriate question. She took another sip of wine. Since Arya had descended upon Winterfell with her bounty, Sansa had learned to differentiate the flavors.

"This is a bold wine," she said. "I can almost taste the strawberries."

He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. "I got an intensive course in wines recently."

"I will be happy to help you further your education in this area," he said, refilling his glass.

Sansa had a flashback at their wedding night.

"Is that wise, T-Tyrion?"

He froze for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly.

She hoped that he would make a joke about her acting like a wife, but when he looked at her, he was as sober as she had ever seen him. And unlike most times when he looked at her, without a smile tugging at his lips or softening his eyes.

"Some nights are easier to forget than others," he said. "Let's talk marriage then."

He left his glass on the table, near the pitcher of wine, and took his seat at the other end of the long table from her. The distance gave her vertigo. She got up from the sumptuous chair at the head of the table, and went to him. She pulled one of the regular chair near his throne like armchair.

"I want to start by reassuring you, unnecessarily I hope, of my House's loyalty to the Queen."

"That was never in doubt, my lady," he said.

 _'You are about to tell him what you want. He can use it against you.'_

She put her hand over Tyrion's. To show her gratitude or to stop him talking or maybe she just needed to make sure he was real, and Petyr Baelish was not.

He looked coldly at her long elegant fingers over his scarred stubby hand.

 _'Careful now, sweetling.'_

"I would like your assurance that a marriage between House Stark and House Clegane would not be seen by the Throne as a threat."

"I appreciate the concern, but I assure you that you need not worry. Why would anyone think so if Ser Sandor comes to Winterfell? House Stark has proven its loyalty to the Queen, and with so few Starks remaining, it's only natural that you would seek to rebuild the line."

She bowed her head. He was right. Just like Arya was right. They should make more Starks. Strong, stubborn Starks. Survivors like them.

"Thank you for the kind words, my lord. We've always been aware that the North being as big as all the other Kingdoms put together, we must prove our loyalty to the Iron Throne beyond all doubt. Now that a Stark runs a quarter of the South and the third largest fleet in Westeros, and another is moving into the West…"

She stopped, realizing what he had said.

"Why would Ser Sandor come to Winterfell?" she asked.

Tyrion's eyes widened in surprise. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed to struggle to find the right words.

"Because I didn't expect the Wardeness of the North to consider moving into Keep Clegane," he said.

"Me?" she exclaimed.

* * *

 **Tyrion**

His mind worked desperately to make sense of her reaction. If not her who? The only unmarried Stark was Bran, and though no one bothered who people choose to fuck, legally, Bran couldn't marry Clegane.

"I apologize for the confusion, my Lord," she said quickly. "Apparently news of Lord Redwyne's death hasn't reached you. My sister, Arya, wishes to marry Ser Sandor."

Relief washed over him like summer rain. She didn't want to marry Clegane. He tensed again at the realization that the head of one of the most important Houses in the Realm had died and he hadn't heard about it. He shouldn't have stayed out of the Capital for so long.

He worked swiftly through all the consequences of her words. Lady Redwyne marrying his vassal did mean that a Stark would live right next to Casterly Rock. And that the Arbor was under Rickon Stark's control. Which meant under Sansa's control.

His lady wife hadn't even mentioned her influence over the East, with Robin Arryn worshipping the ground on which his cousin walked.

The last, and probably scariest part of the situation was that if this marriage went though, he would have a Braavosi trained faceless assassin living in his backyard. That girl had wiped out House Frey and killed an undead dragon! She could take him out with a chicken bone.

"You seem more upset now than when you thought I wanted to marry him."

"I beg forgiveness, my lady. I seem to have misplaced some of the messages Varrys sends me. My deepest sympathies for the death of your brother by law. Indeed, I was not aware that Lord Redwyne had passed away."

"And Rickon is the new Lord Redwyne," she said.

So, few Starks left, but they seemed to be everywhere. Lyanna Stark's son next to the Iron Throne, Sansa at the North, Rickon in the South. And Arya would come to the West.

"When Arya and Lord Redwyne adopted him, many Houses were not happy. I am aware that House Clegane is nowhere near as important as House Redwyne, but…"

"But it's close to me," he finished her thought. "I'm glad you're not marrying him," he said.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The way she looked at him though, made it worthwhile to have been a fool. He saw something sparkle in her eyes that made him throw caution to the wind and tell her the truth.

"I haven't been myself since I read your message," he said. "I tried to be happy for you, but I'm selfish and mean, and I wanted you to be lonely. Like me."

He caught a sparkle of tears in her eyes before she bowed her head.

"Our marriage was a bad idea the first time. It would be a disaster for the country now."

He took in a deep breath. The words should have hurt more, and yet, they didn't. That was the truth. He'd always handled the truth well.

His hand rested on the arm of his fancy chair. Sansa placed her head on it. Her warm skin pressed against his. Her hair tickled him when she breathed. He patted her head with his free hand.

"We would have made it work," she said. "You found solutions to every problem life threw at you. You would have figured it out."

He would have drunk himself numb every night to stop from climbing into her bed. But he didn't try to dissuade her of the notion that he was amazing.

"I wish we would have stood a chance."

He hadn't expected that. It didn't sound like pity. Or self-pity. If he didn't know any better, he would have said it sounded like longing.

She sat up straight, embarrassed of her momentary weakness.

"Should I let you sleep on it? Before we discuss the matter with Ser Sandor?"

Sandor Clegane hadn't believed that Sansa wanted to marry him. And he had said he didn't want to marry her. How would he feel about the other one? He wasn't the sneaky type. If he knew that it was Arya who wanted to marry him, he would have said it as soon as he read the message.

He cheered up. He was going to enjoy announcing the Hound that someone asked for his hand in marriage.

"Though I understand your concerns, I assure you that you will have my full support when we invite the Queen to the wedding."

"Wedding? Already?"

"You haven't visited Casterly Rock before, so you probably didn't realize. The castle is already prepared for a wedding. I stupidly expected it to be yours, but it will serve just as well for Lady Arya's wedding."

"Would you have given me away yourself?" she asked.

His jaw clenched instantly, but he deliberately relaxed it.

"I am sure that Jon would have insisted to have the honor."

"Then I can tell Arya that there are no socio-economic-military-political-whatever-the-fuck-else issues?" Sansa asked. "Her words," she added.

"Of course. When is she arriving?"

"She is here. She was with me in the carriage."

Had he been blinded by her beauty and not seen the other Stark girl? Then he realized. She was wearing another face. Oh yes, it was going to be so relaxing to have that Stark so close to home. And he thought that fixing the Rock's vulnerability through the sewers would help him be safe.

"She promised she will take it off if he says yes," Sansa said, understanding his reaction.

"If? You mean we're discussing the socio-economic-military-political-whatever-the-fuck-else issues for the Seven Kingdoms and they don't even know if they want to get married?"


	5. Sandor POV, Sansa POV

**Sandor**

Sansa had always been a pretty girl. Time had been kind to her. When she got out of that carriage, she was bewitching. The sight of her breasts distracted him for a moment, but he caught himself.

Everyone else in the courtyard was staring at the Wardeness of the North. No one seemed more stunned than the man who should have known her best, Tyrion Lannister. His brother whispered something, and that jolted his lordship out of his daze.

He'd seen many expressions over Sansa's delicate features, but the one with which she looked at Tyrion was new, and spelled trouble. He didn't believe for a second that Sansa's message meant that she wanted to marry him, and he was proven correct by the way she looked at him.

He knew that look. It was common among people who had shared hardships and met later in life, in peaceful times which they hadn't even dared to hope they'd ever see.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a slip of a girl struggle with Sansa's luggage. He thought about going to her while Tyrion and Sansa walked away, but the castle staff was already helping her.

"That's going to be trouble," Jaime Lannister said.

"Aye. Looks like it."

"You're sure she didn't come for you?" Jaime asked.

Sandor looked cynically at him, and didn't even bother to answer.

#

He was at the kennels when the servant found him. Tyrion had given him a guest room fit for a foreign prince in which he hadn't been able to sit still for a moment.

"Lord Tyrion wishes to speak with you, Ser Sandor," the man said.

'Not a Ser.'

He had grown accustomed with the title as one gets used to a scar. He could ignore it most of the times, even if he didn't like looking at it.

"Sit down, Clegane," Tyrion said. "Have a glass of wine."

Tyrion was already pouring him a generous amount of wine the color of blood before he could answer.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked.

"I'm sure it would take more than a mere three bottles," Tyrion said, pointing at the bottles on the table.

He cut through the bullshit.

"I was right, wasn't I? What does she want with me?"

"Lady Sansa came here to ask your hand in marriage."

It was his turn to snort wine through his nose. Tyrion graciously handed him a pristine napkin that blossomed immediately with red stains from the wine spilled on his breastplate.

"Not for herself," Tyrion said, watching him attentively. "For her sister."

Everything stopped. His heart. His breath. His mind.

Arya.

"Don't fuck with me," he said menacingly.

"I do not," Tyrion said. "Lady Arya Redwyne wishes to remarry."

"And Sansa picked me? Why?"

"Let me be clear. Lady Sansa came here to make sure there would be no opposition from the Queen or the Great Houses if Lady Redwyne, whose cousin is the acting Hand of the Queen, and the other controls the East, whose brother controls the Arbor, and whose sister controls the whole of the North, marries a lord from the West. I'm sorry to tell you, Clegane, but you're part of the game now."

"Fuck the game," he said, spitting the words. "That's for you lords and ladies, not for me."

"Be that as it may, Lady Redwyne chose you. Not me, not her sister."

"I'll talk to her when she gets here."

"I am informed that she is already in the castle," Tyrion said.

He knew what that meant. Sansa's maid. And then it hit him. The girl at the tavern who'd come up to him looking for a husband! He started laughing. She was nothing if not persistent.

"She must have started another list," he said to Tyrion's bewildered gaze. "Tell her I accept. Better yet. I'll tell her myself."

He left the room, chuckling to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he was in such a good mood. That crazy bitch had come after him.

The fuck with their game! They had their own games.

#

He cornered Sansa's maid in a pantry. There was bustling outside, the kitchen staff working on the evening's feast in Sansa's honor, and he wanted to make sure they were not disturbed. He secured the door sliding his sword through the handles. He pressed the girl into the wall, and pulled up her skirt.

"You never give up, do you?" he asked.

"Ser," she cooed outraged and aroused while he worked his way through her small clothes.

If he didn't know any better, he'd believe she was a country girl from up north. He looked down her blouse and recognized the swell of Arya's breasts. He'd seen them recently enough, on another girl in his local tavern.

"Take it off, girl."

She started to undo the laces, but he put his hand on hers. "The dress will come off soon enough. You know what I want you to take off."

She pushed him away. He stepped back, to give her room. The girl smoothed down her dress.

"I can't get out of here with a different face," she said in an entirely different tone. "Come on, let's get out of here and go to Sansa, so she can send us to get Lady Redwyne."

"Lady Redwyne."

The name had a tang of sweet wine and bitter poison on his tongue. He put the sword back in its sheath and opened the doors. Arya dashed out, and he followed her.

"So, you said yes," she said when they were alone on one of the long corridors of the castle.

"You could've asked me yourself."

"I did!" she protested.

"Wearing your face," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't know you wanted things to be that easy."

"What's ever easy with you?"

"You've always been very good at annoying me. That seemed easy for you."

Aye, that was true. He'd always got under her skin, even as a child. And there was their second journey.

He'd known she set out on that quest having every intention to die alone. Arya Stark, who had always wanted to be a knight, could not think of a better way of dying than killing a dragon. She didn't much care about human lives, if people happened to stand in her way. She killed men as dispassionately as he used to. She was the Hound's apprentice in that regard.

He'd been desperate to make her want something. To give her a taste of how sweet life could be. It had been easy to make her body sing. It had also been too easy for him to lose his own heart in the darkness of those nights.

Saying no to her at the end had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. She accepted his refusal thinking he did it for an honorable reason. The truth was anything but that.

"Where is your sister sending us?" he asked.

"We left Lady Redwyne at an inn nearby," she said, stepping into the garden.

Sansa Stark was at the edge of the garden, looking through the wall enclosure at the Sunset Sea.

"M'lady, Ser Sandor is here as you requested," Arya said.

Sansa looked vaguely surprised, but greeted him warmly.

"It's good to see you well, Ser Sandor," she said.

He bowed his head respectfully. He'd been wrong to think of her as a little bird in a gilded cage. She'd been a wolf pup in a cage, just like her sister. Unlike her crazy bitch sister, Sansa used her inner direwolf more cautiously, but it was there, snarling when she needed it.

"Lord Tyrion tells me the castle is prepared for the wedding."

He looked up at her sharply. Already? His bitch really didn't want to wait.

"I'm here at my Lord's command, and I will do as he wishes."

He sensed Arya tense, and had to work hard not to smile. She'd been right. It was still easy to get under her skin. He might have to pay for this later on. He didn't mind that in the least.

Sansa must have noticed something, because she was looking from him to not-Arya and she blushed. Her fair skin did her no favors when it came to concealing the red rising in her cheeks. What did her ladyship know about his relationship with her sister? Probably a lot if she was blushing so hotly.

"Jeyla will take you to her ladyship," Sansa said.

"Who?" he asked.

Sansa looked at her maid. "Jeyla."

When he looked at the girl, his eyes were on her chest not her face. The breasts were Arya's. The face was not. She had explained to him the limits of the Faceless Men's magic. She could change her face completely, but the body was still hers, that's why she always needed to wear clothes appropriate to her disguise. It had been her way of reassuring him that she would not take his face after she killed him, because it would be of no use.

He should have happier thoughts before his wedding than being murdered by his future wife.

" _Jeyla_ and I will leave immediately, my lady, if you don't have any chores for her," he said.

Sansa's upper lip twitched when he said not-Arya's name, but she stopped the smile before Jeyla glared at her.

"She is all yours, Ser," she said.

Jeyla rolled her eyes and left without waiting to be dismissed.

"Take care of her," Sansa whispered.

"Until the day I die," he assured her.

* * *

 **Sansa**

Arya had left a few hours earlier with Clegane to bring Lady Redwyne to Casterly Rock. Sansa had lost herself in Tyrion's library until night came.

She paced up and down the foreign bedroom, afraid to go to sleep. At Winterfell, her maids knew to listen for her screams and come in. They had learned to soothe her and never talk about her nightmares to anyone. In Casterly Rock, all she had for a maid was Arya, and she hadn't told her sister about the nightmares.

She hadn't mentioned them in her letters, and she wasn't going to tell her now, on the eve of her wedding. She wouldn't keep Arya in her room anyway. Not when she could see her little sister vibrating with anxiety. Not after everything Arya had told her about Sandor on the way from Winterfell to Casterly Rock.

Sansa blushed just thinking of some of those stories. Her experience with sex was vastly different than the games Sandor had played with Arya. Ramsay's games had been infinitely different.

Something else trickled from Arya's stories into her mind. Sandor learned about pleasing women thanks to Tyrion. She knew about Tyrion's fondness for whores. She always suspected that he might be pretty good at fucking with all the practice he got over the years.

Arya's words confirmed her thoughts, and also intrigued her. He took time to learn what whores liked? If rumors of his sexual appetite were even half true, and he had tried to please the ones he bedded, he must be better at fucking than his brother had been a swordsman in his prime.

She sat down at the writing desk, out of habit. Whenever she thought at him at night, Sansa would start a new letter.

'He wasn't good enough to keep Shae from betraying him.'

It sounded like Petyr in her mind, but Sansa knew her own thoughts. How many letters had she started wanting to ask him about Shae? About what made that particular whore so special that he had risked his father's anger to have her in King's Landing.

She had wondered if he had spurned her bed not out of chivalry but because he had Shae. Because he loved Shae. She poured herself a glass of wine. Thinking about that was as bad as having nightmares.

The wine remained untouched. She wrote a quick note requesting Tyrion's presence, and rang for a maid.

"Take this message to Lord Tyrion," she told the girl who showed up. "Now, please."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. Sansa raised an eyebrow, as if inviting her to comment. The girl turned on her heels and scurried out of the room.

Maybe she should get dressed before he arrived. She could put on some of her dresses without a maid's assistance. No. The urgency in her note would certainly get Tyrion to her door immediately, and most likely he wouldn't be wearing anything formal. They were approaching the hour of the ghost, he would be sound asleep.

She wrapped a large shawl around her shoulders. It wouldn't be the first time he saw her without a dress on.

That night was one of the worst in memory. At first it had been the embarrassment to undress in front of him, and her revulsion to him and what she was expected to do with him. But as time went on, she became embarrassed of having treated him with such disdain. Petyr looked like any other man on the outside. Ramsay was actually handsome. She shivered despite the warm weather.

A rap on the door and Tyrion's voice brought her back to the present.

"My lady?"

"Come in, Lord Tyrion," she said.

Damn! He was fully dressed. Not in the same clothes as before, but still very formally dressed, and she didn't even have shoes on.

She wrapped the shawl tighter around herself and pretended not to see the surprise in his eyes. She'd been the one to summon him, and she was in her sleeping clothes.

"What can I do for you, my lady?"

"Are you my friend, Tyrion?"

He seemed to have prepared himself for any conversation. No surprise registered on his face.

"I am."

"Sansa," she said.

He bowed his head, as an acknowledgement of her request. It wasn't enough.

"Please say my name."

He looked into her eyes, and said it without cracking a smile.

"I am your friend, Sansa."

This was going all wrong. He'd said it as if he was committing to a military alliance.

"You promised me once that you won't ever hurt me."

He nodded, his eyes somber.

"Do all your promises to me hold true?"

"What's wrong?" he asked.

'He thinks I'm trying to trick him.'

'He's right, sweetling. You want him to trick him to do a trick for you.'

'Not a game. I'm not playing, Lord Baelish.'

'Love. Lust. Games.'

"My lady?" Tyrion asked and took a few steps toward her.

He must have given her the biggest room in the whole damn castle, Sansa thought when she saw how far Tyrion still was from her.

"Sansa, Tyrion. My name is Sansa."

"I know your name."

His voice didn't usually sound so cold. Especially not when he was talking to her.

"I sometimes wish I had my sister's willful nature. When Arya needs something, she doesn't stumble on her words."

"You need something."

She sat down on the edge of her still untouched bed.

"I don't hold you to a promise you made in very different circumstances. And I assure you that my affection for you will remain unchanged if you do not…"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

"There is something I never told you in my letters. You may have guessed it, but here it is. I am not well. I know that I should marry and have children, but after Ramsay I just can't. I can't…"

Her voice broke, anger and frustration overtaking shame. That bastard had not only tortured her, he had also stolen her future.

"It's like he locked away a part of me."

Tyrion sat on the bed quietly, far enough that they didn't touch. The frostiness seemed to have thawed out somewhat. She reached out and took his hand. He allowed her to lace her fingers through his, but he remained quiet.

"Can you help me be whole again?"

"Do you know what you're asking?" he said finally.

"Is it not possible? If anyone can make me be a woman again, it's you. I trust no one else."

She heard how much pressure she put in her request. She wanted his help, not his charity.

"You said you'd share my bed when I want it, not when I need it. I need it, but I will not have your pity, or some sense of honor or duty. We are equals now, and I ask this from my friend."

"You confuse me."

"That's impossible," she said. "You are the cleverest man I know."

"Clever is not the same as wise," he said.

"A wise man would say no?"

"Yes."


	6. Tyrion POV, Sandor POV

**Note**

Some dresses have the laces at the back – like Sansa's with the corset Arya tightened when they arrived, others are laced in front, like Arya's here.

* * *

 **Tyrion**

After Sansa retired to her room, he changed his clothes and went to his office to read all the messages from Varys. Of course, he found the one in which the spy master told him about Lord Redwyne's death.

That was the problem with trusting Jon as acting Hand of the Queen. He had slacked off those duties in favor of the reconstruction of the West.

Now there he was, in his former wife's bed, trying to make sure he understood what she wanted. No. Not wanted. Needed.

"Clever is not the same as wise," he said.

He had not drunk enough for that conversation to happen. He hadn't actually drunk at all, caught up in the documents he had neglected.

"A wise man would say no?" she asked.

"Yes."

He was not wise. She should know it by now.

"I'm sorry I overstepped the bounds of our friendship, my lord."

"Yes, you did," he said.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he kept it prisoner in his. He watched her calmly, trying to distance himself from the situation. His inner calm shattered when she raised her blue eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, and looked at him.

Beautiful. Unhappy. Loveless.

"I can try to offer you pleasure, and safety," he said. "But I cannot guarantee you will feel either."

He thought about his brother, lost in his dark storm, unable to reach out and grasp happiness again. Unable to believe he could love anyone but Cersei despite having met his true soulmate.

"Sharing a bed is the simplest thing in the world. As long as it doesn't matter what happens after."

"And does it matter?" she asked. "Can't we treasure those memories as if they are dreams?"

"Your confidence humbles me," he said, only half joking. "Why are you so sure that sharing my bed is something you would treasure?"

He had to be cruel to get to the truth.

"The very idea appalled you not so long ago," he said.

"I changed," she said. "I'm not the same scared girl who hadn't seen the world."

She had changed from a scared girl into a scared woman. In this respect, and this alone. In all else, she had changed from a piece of the Game into a major player. He shouldn't think of the Game. If he did, he would fuck her for the wrong reasons.

Because he had to be honest with himself. He always knew he would fuck her if she asked. And she had just asked.

"Now I'm the one seeking assurance. Whatever happens between us, let's not allow it to spoil the most peaceful and prosperous period the Seven Kingdoms have seen in a long time."

"I promise," she said. "That I can promise with an open heart."

"What can't you promise?" he asked.

She looked down at their entwined hands.

"I don't know."

He bowed his head. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to be in Sansa's place. To try to build herself up after being raped and tortured. He thought her strong when he witnessed her endure Joffrey's abuse. He didn't need to have been there to guess some of the things Ramsay Bolton did to her, having power of life and death over her.

"What do you feel comfortable doing?" he asked, looking at their hands.

He had to know her limits. Holding hands was fine. Where would the panic start?

She surprised him when she took her hand away and cupped his face in both palms. She pressed her lips squarely on his.

Straight for his weakest point. Kissing was the one thing he hadn't had much practice with, not being the sort of thing one asked of whores. He replied timidly to her kiss, and she dared more. She rained closed mouth kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. Not at all how he expected the evening to unfold.

"I've been wanting to do this the moment I saw you today," she whispered between kisses.

Would this woman never cease surprising him?

He let her kiss him, and tried to take a mental step back to consider her behavior. She felt safe with him. It was as if a dam had broken inside her and she didn't need to hold back. The way she was kissing him though… it was so childish. As if she was fourteen again, like she was when they got married, and not a woman of twenty-four. He'd been little older than her when they wed.

How would she react to a proper kiss?

Even with his lack of practice in this area, he still knew more than her. He felt her tensing when he took control of the kiss, but she allowed him to go on. He kissed her jawline, and her cheeks and when he returned to her mouth, she was the one to part her lips and venture to run her tongue over his lips.

She retreated for a moment when he opened his mouth, but when he didn't enter her mouth, she found the courage to explore his. He was losing ground at this game, but he didn't mind. Not when Sansa moaned as he sucked gently at her tongue.

The room was suddenly plunged in darkness. He sensed the smoke of a burned out candle. How long had they been kissing?

"Oh, that was wonderful," she said, and she let go of him.

He heard her body hit the mattress. Her contended sigh. Would that be all? How much time did he have? How many nights?

Her hand groped for him in the dark. He hesitated before lowering himself in bed, next to her. He found her face with his hand, and leaned over to kiss her. Softly, but more passionately than before. Darkness always made him bolder.

"Umm," she said when they paused for breath.

He retreated, concerned that he had pushed a limit.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked gently.

"No!" she said quickly. "I just…"

"What is, my lady? You can tell me anything."

"Can you light another candle?"

She was afraid of the dark. He should have thought of that.

"Forgive me," he said, getting out of bed. "I didn't think."

"Think what?"

He felt his way through the dark, trying to find the writing desk, then the drawer with spare candles.

"That you don't like the dark," he said, trying not to curse when he banged his leg on the chair.

"I don't mind the dark," she said.

He found the candles, and replaced the one that had burned out. The room was lit and he put the lighter back in the drawer. His eyes fell on a paper with Sansa's handwriting. And his name. He closed the drawer before making out more words, yet wondering what she could have wanted to tell him. Maybe they were just the first attempts in the message she sent him earlier, requesting his presence in her room.

"I want to see you," she said.

For that very reason, he would have preferred darkness. He'd be more free to be himself if she didn't look at him. Her fear and anxiety he could handle. He would melt away tension with touches and kisses. But he would not be able to unsee a look of disgust in her eyes. If he saw that even once, his heart would turn to stone.

Maybe that would be for the better. Either way, he'd lose his heart that night.

* * *

 **Sandor**

He rode along the carriage all the way to the inn. He could see not-Arya's face between the curtains sometimes. She was probably seething that in her maid guise she couldn't ride a horse. He didn't want to be close to her while she was not being herself. He wanted her too much to settle for anything else.

It was already night when they arrived at the inn. He took a room befitting his knight status, and Jeyla went into Lady Redwyne's room.

He put on his sleeping clothes, but didn't prepare for sleeping. He sat up with his eyes closed, his back resting on the tall back of the bed. Waiting. It came as no surprise to see her at his door. He hadn't even bothered locking it.

He'd prepared himself for her visit, but it wasn't enough. She filled his soul just by being in the same room. Despite her modest garb, desire surged in him along with the more tender feelings.

She wore a simple grey dress that covered most of her skin. She even wore fine gloves. Only her face was exposed but if she bent her head a fraction the long hair would cover her face. She'd be at one with the shadows. Just as she wanted.

"We're really doing this," she said.

"You got involved two Wardens to make sure," he said. "How could I say no?"

She let out a small laugh. "You being too shy to refuse was the least of my concerns."

She sat down on the edge of his bed as she had sat on the ground so many times when they were travelling. She kicked off her shoes.

"I still remember the first thing out of your mouth I liked hearing. Fuck Joffrey. And fuck the Queen."

He didn't like that memory. Turning tail and abandoning his King had been like dying. Like killing the part of himself that cared about honor and his name.

"Still mad you didn't get to kill either of them?" he asked.

She tugged at her gloves, finger by finger. She put the gloves neatly in her lap and looked at her hands.

"The first time I picked red grapes, my hands looked like they were dipped in blood. It took me months to stomach red wine after that. All I could see in every bottle was the way my hands looked after I killed Merryn Trant."

He had seen her kill men, but she hadn't told him how she killed any of the others on her list. As he had watched over her, she spoke while the potions worked to heal her body of the dragon wounds. He knew much of what she had done.

"I don't think Syrio would have approved," she said. "It wasn't elegant. No noncing about."

"Are you trying to tell me something, girl?" he asked, to snap her out of those dark memories.

"No. Yes. That list is done. Closed."

"Good," he said. "I was last on the damned list and all the others are dead."

"You know you haven't been on that list for years," she said.

She turned to look at him. "Aren't you worried it's not really me?" she asked, crawling next to him. "Just some waif wearing my face?"

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He knew it was her, but the thought of her dead turned his blood to ice. He ran his knuckles over her jaw.

"I know every inch of you. I'd know."

It was her turn to shiver. She hid her head in his chest. "I hate you."

"You definitely closed the list though?" he asked.

"I have a new one. You're on it."

He hoped the beard concealed the grin. He'd said as much to Tyrion.

"You said that changing the face doesn't change the body," he said. "I want to see it."

"That has got to be the laziest thing you ever said to me! You want an excuse to see me naked and not make the slightest effort."

She didn't seem upset. She was amused. Pleased. Aroused. And something else. Could it possibly be? Shy? After everything?

He pulled her close. He breathed in her scent. Wild flowers. Sea air. And steel. The steel was maybe in his imagination.

"Want you naked," he whispered, nibbling at her ear.

He tugged at the laces of her dress. Far more sturdy and complicated than the maid's outfit she'd had on in the pantry.

"You have other dresses, I hope," he said. "This one might not survive the night."

"Sansa has a bunch," she said.

He loved the way her voice caught in her throat. She ran her fingers over his hands, not stopping him, but not helping with the laces either.

"We're…"

Her words turned into a purr when he kissed her neck. He had to struggle to get to her skin atop the high collar of her dress. Why the hell had she chosen a dress that was so hard to take off? He slowed down at the thought. Maybe she wasn't all that ready to share his bed.

"Don't stop," she said, and tugged at one of the laces.

Instead of loosening, the lacing tightened around her.

"Seven hells," she muttered. "One time I try to wear a proper dress!"

She had pulled away from his embrace and she was straining to untangle the ribbons that held her dress together. She reached down and took a dagger from a sheath strapped to her ankle. He put his hand on top of hers, and gently took it from her.

"Let me," he said.

The candle light shone off the blade as he began to slice through the lace. His usually sure hands were moving slowly, carefully. It was difficult to focus when Arya's breasts kept rising and falling with rapid breaths she wasn't even trying to control. He didn't want to nick the skin, but he also wanted to make this moment last forever, as if fearing that he might wake up from the dream.

"Can you move any slower?" she asked, huffing.

"Aye," he drawled, and slowed down ever more.

"Well, don't!" she snapped. "It's gonna be morning by the time you cut through it. Didn't you say you want to see me naked?"

She had a point. He wanted that. And more. He didn't just want to see her. He wanted to touch and taste her again.

He made short work of the rest of her laces, and even sliced through some of the fabric. Her full breasts peeked through the opening. He tore the rest of it until he could pull it down her shoulders. His hand closed over her breast.

"This better not be a dream," she murmured.

He squeezed her nipple until her sharp intake of breath warned him he reached the pain threshold. He lowered his head, his lips hovering over hers. He watched her rapt expression as he kneaded her breast. He cupped the back of her head in his free hand.

She slowly opened her eyes. She traced his features with her fingertips, from his brow to the corner of his mouth. The ghostly touch reminded him of the many dreams he had about her.

"We never kissed," she whispered.

Her lips brushed his when she spoke. That was closer than they ever got to kissing. Until then.

Arya lifted her head and pressed her lips on his. He cradled her head and continued the closed mouth kiss, challenging himself not to open her.

"That wasn't such a-"

He took over then. He was hungrier for her than she could imagine. Her hand tightened in his hair and she pulled him impossible closer. He smiled even as he devoured her. There was no feeling in the world like Arya shedding a layer of her tight self-control.

She managed to shimmy out of her torn dress while they were kissing and she was already working on his shirt. He took the dagger out of her hand when she reached to slice it down. He threw it away carelessly on the floor.

"That's fucking Valyrian steel," she said, but didn't argue the point when she saw his shirt land in the same area of the room.

He cupped her round little face in his palms and kissed her on the lips again. She hanged on to his shoulders, and he lowered her slowly into bed. She was shaking when he laid on top of her. The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest was enough to make his cock come to life and strain against his pants.

Her hands were pushing down his pants, but her legs were firmly closed. That was interesting. He looked at her face again, and he saw it again. The hint of bashfulness he'd noticed earlier. The flames gave a warm light to everything so he couldn't tell if she was blushing.

Something inside him whispered that he should wait. What was one more night after so many nights?

He kissed her until her hands lost the resolve to push his pants off. They were out of breath from kissing when his pants hit the floor. His aching cock poked into her thigh, smearing her skin, continuing to swell while they kissed.

She took a deep breath and started spreading her legs. He put an end to that immediately. He clamped them together wrapping his leg on the outside of hers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathing heavily.

"Not until we're married," he said.

Arya lost it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"


	7. Sandor POV,, Sansa POV

Small changes to Arya/Sandor scene. Full version on Ao3

* * *

 **Sandor**

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"A man's gotta have a code."

"You are the biggest idiot in the Seven Kingdoms!"

"Your words wound me deeply," he said dramatically, pulling her back in his arms. "What's one more night to wait?"

"You are cruel."

"You said that before."

When she asked him to go with her to the Arbor as her shield. And her secret lover.

"I was right," she said.

He heard the note of pain in her voice. If she had suffered half as much as him while they were apart, she'd been in hell. He had to tell her.

"Do you know how many times I thought about what you asked me?" he said. "How much I wanted to leave everything and come to you?"

"Why didn't you?"

"You're the smart one. You should know."

"Your stupid honor," she said.

"Fuck honor," he spat. "Honor meant nothing when all I wanted was to touch you again. To make you shake and call out my name. To give you everything I had to give."

"Then why?"

Her voice was soft, pain, like his own, echoed in it.

"Because I'm dumb. And I would have died to see you with another man. To know you share his bed. To see him touching you."

He paused. That wasn't everything.

"I dreamt of killing him," he said. "And you."

He'd seen a mummers' play once in which a jealous king had killed his innocent wife because he believed she was unfaithful. He'd laughed at the stupid premise. Plenty of real reasons to kill someone. Who needed made up imaginings? He understood that play when he woke up night dreaming he killed her.

His hand rested on her neck. It looked much like those dreams. He'd never harm her in the waking world. But those dreams. They tortured him for so long.

She was there. Alive and well and his. He leaned over and hovered over her lips. To his surprise, she allowed the soft touch to go on without complaining. He expected her to pull him into a proper kiss.

"What would you have thought if I bedded the girl in the tavern not knowing it was you?" he asked.

He got distracted when her bosom rose as she drew in a deep breath. He cupped her breast and started playing with her nipple.

"It was still me. I would have enjoyed it."

"Would we still be here? The night before our wedding?"

"Probably not. I'd probably already be with child by now," she said.

He looked at her surprised. "It might not have happened from one fucking."

It was her turn to look surprised. "How can you possibly think it would have happened only once?"

He smiled back at her. That was true. They were going to have a problem leaving Casterly Rock after their wedding night. Leaving their room.

"Until tomorrow," he said. "We'll have to make due with other games."

The eagerness with which she looked at him told him all he needed to know. He hadn't been the only one to live off the memory of those games.

He'd been thinking about her for so long, he'd been imagining things to do to her, things she'd do to him, he had a hard time choosing what he wanted to do first. The indecision lasted for a moment.

He flipped her on her belly.

"Up," he said, with a slight upward pressure on her hip to let her know what she wanted.

Arya stuck her ass up in the air, and he groaned at the enticing sight. It was going to be very hard not to fuck her that night. He slid along her flesh. She gasped and shivered and wriggled her ass, trying to get it to enter where she needed it.

He put his hands firmly on her hips and kept her still.

"Don't even think about it," he said. "Actually, no. Think about it. Think about it long and hard but don't try to get it tonight cause it ain't gonna happen."

"If you don't make me finish tonight, I'm not marrying you," she said.

"That so?"

He began moving his hips. His mouth watered at the sensations. He had to taste her again.

Arya started to shake as soon as he found the right pressure and speed. The first climax came swiftly, and she bucked her hips wildly.

"Fuck," he cursed and barely pulled his hips back in time.

He was not going to accidentally fuck her. That would come the next day. And there would be nothing accidental about it.

She flopped down on the bed when she was done.

"Ok, I'll marry you." Her face was buried in the mattress and her voice sounded muffled.

He was still straddling her hips, when she turned around underneath him. He was not going to last long.

She slid her fist up and down his length a few times, bringing him closer to the edge. He opened his eyes when she stopped.

"I want that," she said.

He had re-lived their few times together obsessively over the years. It had been just a game then, but he had promised her that next time he would come all over her breasts. He finished with his own hand. He whispered her name while he spilled his seed over her breasts.

"It was worth the wait," she said looking up at him.

He crashed in bed next to her, and smiled at the confirmation that she had lived off those same nights.

He pulled her into a sloppy kiss.

"As soon as I get my breath back, we'll make new memories," he said.

* * *

 **Sansa**

How different everything felt with Tyrion.

The first thing she needed to wipe out of her mind were Petyr's kisses. Dutiful daughterly kisses he'd demanded. She wasn't angry with Petyr. When Arya spilled his blood on the Winterfell floors, all that was left of Petyr were his teachings. And those were useful. But the memory of his kisses had to go.

She wondered if it was wrong to use Tyrion like this. Even if she'd been honest with him. Her beauty influenced men whether they were aware of it or not. She had to believe that Tyrion was strong enough to get passed being used. He cared for her, and once he kissed her back, Sansa didn't mind if he only did it out of pity or out of a common fascination with her beauty.

She saw him hesitate to return into her bed once the room was lit once again. She was going to tell him all the truth she could. As much as it as she allowed herself to know.

"I didn't answer your question," she said, sitting up in the middle of the huge bed.

He raised an eyebrow, and walked back to her. Curiosity. That would be a key to opening him up. She didn't count on him believing that she had no other reason to share his bed beyond what she told him. His sharp mind no doubt looked for her hidden reasons.

"Why I'm so sure I'll treasure the memories we forge this night," she said.

"And the answer is?"

"Your reputation."

He frowned. "My reputation is not good when it comes to women."

"Depends on the source," she said. "I doubt even you know this, but whores talk. And sometimes others listen."

"Littlefinger," he said, and the grimness of his frown increased.

She shook her head. "Only fools trusted him," she said.

"And you are no fool."

She shook her head again, and this time she smiled. "You are not going to believe who has a good opinion of you when it comes to pleasing women."

Curiosity, but also apprehension. She was glad for the light in the room. He was such a complicated man, she needed to see his face to try to guess his thoughts.

"Sandor Clegane, in his youth, worked for you. He heard the whores you visited talking about you."

Apprehension was winning against curiosity.

"Do I want to know what he said they said? Also, how did you get to talk to Clegane about it is even more of a mystery."

She cupped his cheek. "Would we be here if they didn't praise you?"

He conceded her point and climbed in bed next to her again.

"They said you take time to find out how they like to be touched, what they like to do. You give them pleasure, not just taking it."

He seemed flustered. Tyrion Lannister was in her bed, and he was the one to be blushing. Well, maybe not blushing, but slightly rattled. She beamed and leaned in to kiss him.

"As for how I know," she said between kisses. "He told my sister."

"So, I'm in your bed because I have good references from Sandor Clegane?" he asked.

"Kind of."

She lay on one side, and trailed her fingers on his chest. He was still wearing formal clothes. That jerkin had a pretty simple lacing, not much different than on her dresses, but under it there was a shirt and he'd have to take that off himself.

"The things he did to Arya…" she said, starting to loosen the lacing. "If she enjoyed them enough to marry him after not seeing him for two years… there must be something worth exploring."

His jerkin was open when she said the last word. She touched the fine linen of his shirt.

"I'm not sure I want to think of your sister with the Hound right now."

His voice sounded gruff, but almost playful.

"Really? Why?"

His chest rose when he took in a deep breath. The solid flesh bumped into her fingers.

"I'm having trouble concentrating as it is. Where are they anyway?"

"I sent them to get Lady Redwyne from the inn. They needed some time alone before the wedding."

"The Queen and King confirmed they will be here tomorrow," he said. "For your wedding."

She burst out laughing. He was going to look adorable explaining that to the Queen.

"It was an informal note," he said sulkily. "I'll straighten it up tomorrow."

"Let's hope they kept the information to themselves."

"Themselves and the people they trust," Tyrion said.

Ser Jorah, Misandei, Ser Davos, Varys… she stopped herself from unravelling more names.

"Can we not think about it now?" she asked.

"Until dawn, we are the only two people in the world," he said solemnly.

'Us and our ghosts,' Sansa thought. 'But maybe some ghosts will disappear after tonight.'

Ramsay and Shae. If she could get rid of those, she could deal with all the others.


	8. Tyrion POV

Chapters 8 and 9 were written as one chapter, but it got ridiculously long, so I'm posting it as 2 chapters .

Same thing happened what was supposed to be Chapter 9, which now will be 10 and 11.

* * *

 **Tyrion**

"Until dawn, we are the only two people in the world," he said.

Drunk and in pain, Jaime had told him how Cersei made him believe that the two of them were the only people in the world. Tyrion had taken that as another sign that his sister didn't see people as more than objects to be disposed of as needed. When the same words came out of his mouth, he understood her a little better.

For the first time, he felt like he would let the world burn as long as he could be with the woman he loved.

He drew in a deep breath. He had to hope that when morning came, his wits would also come back. He'd have to explain to the Queen that instead of the marriage of the Wardeness of the North, she'd be attending the wedding of two relatively unimportant nobles. Relatively. Clegane was a hero of the Great War and the Stark girl… Thinking of what that Stark girl was capable of could ruin the already unstable good mood of that strange night.

Sansa had asked him not to think about it until morning, and yet his brain was buzzing with thoughts. Two years of peace, and he still feared that the new order would break down. He didn't want to see another war in his lifetime.

Her fingers were timidly caressing his chest. A crease between her eyebrows betrayed her concentration. He smiled fondly at her. She raised her eyes to his and mirrored his smile. That was exactly how he imagined she would look at him when he read her letters.

How had that correspondence start? With a private note from her, a few lines scribbled next to official documents. He'd replied with half a page, and in no time, it grew to pages and pages of small things that added up to _I wish I could spend my life with you._

Now that woman was in bed with him. Not his child bride. Not the Ice Lady of Winterfell. Sansa from her letters. And she had unlaced his jerkin so delicately he had barely noticed until her fingers started to explore his body.

It was difficult to let her be in charge, but he needed to see how for would she go without his help. Her breasts, which had deliciously filled up her dress when she arrived, were only a vague shape under her sleeping clothes.

Her hand roamed over his chest and shoulders. Sometimes she ventured lower, down to his waist and when it came up again it pulled his shirt up almost accidentally.

"Do you want me to take off the shirt?" he asked after it happened the third time.

"Yes."

He sat up and did it, avoiding her eyes. He'd do so much better in the dark.

"So many scars," she whispered.

The tone was not disgusted. When he looked at her he saw something like awe in them.

"May I… touch you?"

He nodded. He had expected to be the one asking that question.

She must have seen men naked before. At least that beast Ramsay if no one else, and by all accounts, he was a strapping lad. But the way she was looking at him was as if she discovered the male form for the first time. He was still sitting up, and Sansa was running her fingers over the scars on his back.

"Who did these to you?" she asked.

He tried to remember. Some could have happened long ago, in his brief participation in the battle against her brother Robb. Most likely they were from his time as a slave in Mereen.

"I don't know," he said. "Someone of little importance. Most likely dead now."

"I envy you," she said.

He looked at her surprised, but he immediately realized. She knew who scarred her body. She probably remembered all too clearly how she got each and every one of the scars hiding under her clothes.

"The memories will fade. Life is full of surprises and not all of them are bad. When you escaped, did you imagine you'd see spring in Casterly Rock?"

"No. I didn't think I'd be able to touch a man. Or want to be touched."

"But you do."

Her eyelids fluttered closed. "Yes," she said.

"Good," he said. "Because I want very much to touch you. All of you."

Her breathing quickened.

"Is that all right?" he asked.

"I don't want you to see me. I can look at your scars, and they don't frighten me, but I'm afraid to show you mine. Do you mind?"

He leaned over and kissed her lips. "No."

Who would have thought that she needed the darkness more than him?

"It's selfish, isn't it? I want to see you but I don't want you to see me."

"So selfish," he agreed, and ignored her look of surprise and distress, kissing her again. From her lips he continued a trail of kisses down her neck. "You are the most selfish person in the world," he whispered between open mouthed kisses and light bites down her neck, and on her shoulder.

He pulled at the neck of her loose night dress, to reach as much of her shoulder as he could. His free hand found her hip and slid upwards over her dress. She gasped when he found her breast, but she didn't pull away.

At first, her palms rested timidly on his back, but soon he felt her hands all over his bare torso.

He always paid attention to reaction of the woman in his bed. It wasn't difficult to adjust the pressure of his kisses and caresses until all he could hear from Sansa were sound of pleasure, no surprise or discomfort.

She liked to have her breasts squeezed hard, but only the lightest touch on her nipples. She liked it when he grazed her skin with his teeth. She liked when he ran his tongue on her skin. He thought about the moment when he would touch her nipple with his tongue. His cock started to signal its impatience.

"Oh, Tyrion," she whispered and tangled her fingers in his hair when he found the perfect spot on her neck. "Oh, yes, that feels so good."

He pulled up the hem of her dress, slowly, giving her time to react. She arched her back enthralled by his kisses, without the slightest indication that he should stop. She moaned loudly when he touched the outside of her thigh, and he kept kneading her flesh while Sansa squirmed. Slowly, she parted her legs. He took the hint and caressed his way between her thighs.

She tensed when his fingers brushed her curls. He took his hand away.

"No," she said.

"We don't have to do everything in one night," he said.

"You don't understand. I want… I want so much more than I can say."

"Tell me. What do you want most right now?"

"Close your eyes."

Sansa traced his closed eyelids with her fingertips, to make sure he wasn't cheating. He still couldn't believe that out of the two of them, she was the one who didn't want to be seen.

"I want you inside me."

Her whisper set ablaze the desire he so strenuously kept in check.


	9. Sansa POV

I gave up redacting the chapter to try to fit the M-rating. Hoping that no one will be offended by the graphical description. It's love and healing expressed through sex. It's the very heart of the story for Sansa and Tyrion. They do a lot of talking and analyzing, but what really gets them over their past traumas and all the emotional baggage is when they make love. That's when they feel loved.

* * *

 **Sansa**

She said it. Kisses and caresses were fine. They were exquisite and enjoyable and delightful, but all they did was to sharpen her hunger.

She was a woman and she had needs that her monstrous husband had denied and warped. He'd given her pain, and fear, but her body demanded its natural rights. The more her mind tried to starve her of human contact for fear of getting hurt, the louder her body demanded release.

The safety she felt with Tyrion unleashed the part of her that had been chained.

He drew in a long, deep breath.

"Can we do that?" she asked, anxiety settling in the longer her remained silent.

"We can," he said. "I didn't expect… May I open my eyes now?"

She took her hands off his eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

He searched her face, as if there was something she was hiding from him.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You don't want to-"

"I want to," he interrupted her. "I very much want to."

Then why was he so shocked? It had been very clear that was what she asked of him.

"I hoped I could make you want this, not merely need it."

"I don't understand."

"Will you let me do one thing before I do what you asked?"

Sansa was confused. She wanted him. Her insides throbbed with want. She longed to feel that hunger finally sated. She recalled Arya's stories. She had climaxed under Sandor's hands and mouth without ever having had sex with him.

But Sansa knew what she wanted. She had a secret never shared with anyone. Ramsay's most cruel tricks had been the times when he hadn't hurt her. The mere lack of pain had felt like pleasure. And in the deepest corner of her mind, Sansa hid the shame of having felt anything other than horror and loathing for her husband.

"Is it something you want to do, or something you think I need?"

He seemed taken aback by her question.

"I'd like to say both. But I'm not sure," he said. "My mind isn't at its sharpest right now."

"Close your eyes," she said.

He obeyed again. She put her hand over the bulge in his pants, and traced the steely length with her fingers.

"What do you want most at this moment?"

"To fuck you," he answered and his hips thrust against her hand. "You cheated," he said opening his eyes.

"Is that not what you want?" she asked.

He kissed her then. Not a sweet exploratory kiss. Not something meant to inflame her senses. He kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue in her mouth, for the first time that night demanding not coaxing a response from her.

To her surprise, her body responded to his fervor even more passionately than before. The heat in her belly turned into unbearable fire.

"Yes, Sansa, that's what I want," he said, and kissed his way down her chest. "I want to fuck you."

The growled words brought new waves of moisture between her thighs. She felt his cock swelling under her hand, straining the confines of his pants. Why was he still wearing clothes? Why was she?

His kisses were muted by her night dress, frustrating her. She took her hand from his cock and started pulling up at the hem of the dress. She arched her back to pull it all the way off. Tyrion took advantage of the position to touch her breasts. Her eyes rolled back in her head when he increased the pressure with which he kneaded them, but when his tongue made contact with her nipples, she groaned as a wave of pleasure ripped through her.

"Fuck," she said.

The word felt foreign in her mouth, but seemed to do wonders for Tyrion whose cock twitched under her fingers.

"Why are you still dressed?"

He hurriedly took his pants off and the size of the cock that sprang forth surprised her. The pants had restricted its size, misleading her about its girth. It wasn't just bigger than she thought. It was bigger than Ramsay's, and Ramsay had torn her apart when he entered her.

And yet, her body was smarter than her mind. The memory didn't stave off the desire. She chewed on her bottom lip and she had to make an effort to look up from his cock into his eyes. She blushed when she saw he was watching her. She got over her embarrassment as soon as he positioned himself between her legs.

He was looking into her eyes, but Sansa lowered her gaze to where their bodies almost touched. Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and she had to raise her head to look. He leaned over her and put a pillow under her head. When he moved the tip of his cock made contact with her flesh.

She gasped loudly and her hips bucked upwards. His cock pressed even harder against her flesh, sliding down her folds.

"Fuck," he cursed.

"Please," she said.

His eyes were trained on her face while he arranged his cock. His fingers found her entrance. Sansa shivered under his touches.

"You're so fucking wet."

He said it with so much lust that it didn't even occur to her to wonder if that was good or bad. And then she realized it was the best thing in the world, when her muscles stretched around his thickness, and there was no pain at the intrusion. Where Ramsay's cock tore at her flesh, there was smooth never-ending sliding, and waves of pleasure radiating from that epicenter all through her body.

His breathing became more labored as he continued the slow descent. He paused halfway, and closed his eyes. She checked his face trying to understand why he stopped.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her inner muscles involuntarily contracting around his cock.

"Absolutely nothing," he said in a strangled voice. He took in a few deep breaths. "I'm very close to finishing, and I really, really don't want to."

Finishing. She knew what that meant. She remembered Ramsay squirting his seed inside her, the staying there, deep in her cunt while his dick softened, making sure that his seed was deep in her womb. And then he left her with that horrible woman who made sure she didn't wash or have moon tea. The unwanted memories made her body react, no longer honeying her cunt for his entry.

Tyrion opened his eyes sensing her distress. He pulled out a fraction, and laid on top of her. His head was level with her breasts. His mouth on her skin made sure there was no doubt who was in her bed. It took a few moments of attention lavished on her breasts and her hips bucked up again, trying to get more of him inside.

He was advancing in short thrusts, and by the time he was all the way inside her, Sansa was already cresting. The climax that swept through her body was far stronger than anything she experienced at her own hands.

'Tyrion! Oh, Gods, Tyrion!'

When she came down from her high, her throat ached as if she'd been screaming at the top of her lungs. Had she called his name aloud? She at most dared to whisper it when she played with herself in her room at Winterfell.

"That was amazing," she said, still panting. "I had no idea…"

"What?" he asked with a smile. "I'm a little deaf now."

Oh, gods, she had screamed. She closed her eyes mortified. She relaxed her legs and he guided them with strong hands until they were in the air. She opened her eyes to see him on his knees leaning forward. His strong upper body pressed against the back of her thighs, and his cock reached deeper, hitting a different place inside her.

The embarrassment faded away when he sped up his thrusts. She felt the tidal wave of pleasure rise inside her. Sansa's eyes widened.

"Again?" she asked.

Tyrion's answer was to slow down the rhythm, and just when she reached a beautiful plateau, he sped up again. She knew she screamed this time, but she no longer cared when the second climax ravaged her body.

"Oh, Gods, yes!"

A lion's roar came from Tyrion's throat when he exploded inside her. Her inner walls clenched frantically around him, while she kept whispering his name.

"Tyrion! Oh, Tyrion!"

He let his body fall next to hers in bed. They were both sweating and panting.

"That was…"

He stopped.

"What?" Sansa asked.

"I have no words."

She laughed, enjoying the idea of overwhelming Tyrion Lannister's ability to be witty.

"Never thought I'd see the day when you are lost for words."

"Not day yet," he said.

He sounded exhausted, yet challenging. He couldn't possibly do it again, could he? Until a few moments earlier, she never thought she could have two orgasms in a row. She had always hoped she would find pleasure in his bed, but nothing to this scae.

"Now that I'm more relaxed," he said. "And the blood is flowing back to my brain, I can answer your question better."

She frowned. What question?

"It was something I wanted to do, more than you needed it to experience. And I still do."

That sounded intriguing.

"Will I like it?"

"I will be at my most diligent to make sure you enjoy it."

"Thank you," she said. "I look forward to you furthering my education in this area."

He reached for her hand and took it to his lips.

"You honor me."

She smiled in the dark.

"I know my mind and my body, Tyrion. I needed you tonight because when I saw you, I felt something. And that hasn't happened to me before."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have presumed to know better."

"No apologies," she said. " If anyone needs to apologize, it's me for using you this way."

"Most men would want nothing more than to be used like this."

"But you are not most men. And I needed to be you because I felt this for no one other than you."

"Do you know how strange that sounds? I should be the last man someone like you would allow to touch her. To desire? It's preposterous."

"Life, as you said, is full of surprises. Maybe I could have desired other men if things went differently. But I was too young to even want someone when I was forced away from you. And my life has been at the whim of others after that. Lord Baelish would have done me a world of good if he took me to one of his brothels to learn about men. Women who know how to use sex have more power than most men realize."

She was thinking of Myranda and Shae. Ramsay almost loved that woman who enjoyed the things she had considered torture. If she had known more…

No. Ramsay and Shae and Myranda were all dead. They were alive. Magnificently alive, as they had just proved.

"You said earlier that you wanted me to be as lonely as you. I was," she said. "During the Great War, everyone was in Winterfell. Then it ended, they all left. Jon and Danaerys, Missandei, Ser Davos. The hordes of Dothraki. The Wildlings. Arya, and she soon took Rickon. And you. You were the first to leave me."

"There was work to be done in the south," he said.

"I know. That didn't make it any easier. Every room in Winterfell has ghosts in it. Ghosts of my dead parents and brothers. Ghosts of the living who left."

"I should have visited," he said.

"Yes, you should have. I invited you to in so many of the letters I didn't send. And I was asking permission to visit you in so many others."

He cupped her cheek, and sighed. "Who would have thought that our marriage would turn out to be the easy and uncomplicated part of our lives?"

"I always wanted to be the lady of the castle. Never imagined or wanted to be Lady Stark of Winterfell."

"When I was young, I didn't want Casterly Rock. Except some nights, when I slept on the couch in our bedroom. I thought that if I became the Lord of Casterly Rock, and you were my lady, you might love me."

"You got your wish," she said. "Well, most of it."

It was a vague admission that she loved him, but it was there. He was the Lord of the Rock, and she loved him. Unfortunately, the Ice Lady of the North could never be Lady of the Rock. She had to shake away the sadness of that reality.

"When Arya said you could unlace my dress in no time, I got such a thrill," she said. "I never had much imagination when it comes to these things."

"The dress you wore when you got here?"

"Yes. I never felt so uncomfortable. She talked me into wearing it, and I indulged her because I had never seen her so anxious, but now I can't help wondering how it would feel to have you remove it."

"Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"You'd like me to put it on?"

"No," he said quickly. He certainly didn't want her to put more clothes on. "Not tonight," he said, and moved closer to her.

Sansa rested her cheek on his arm.

"In the morning we'll have to act as if nothing happened, don't we?"

"It's not morning yet."


	10. Sansa POV, Tyrion POV, Sandor POV

**Sansa**

She felt a sweet weariness in her bones. She smiled and stretched lazily in bed. Her hand bumped into Tyrion's back, who still slept. Naked. Everything they did came vividly into her mind.

She stood up, and realized that she was also naked. The sun glinted off the bottle of wine on the writing desk. How late was it? They had intended to wake up before dawn.

She jumped out of bed, put on her night dress and then put her hand on his shoulder, to wake him up gently. He turned in his sleep and she saw his cock awake before him.

Oh, Gods!

She panicked. They had no time to fuck again! The servants would be up. Arya was supposed to be back. And then it struck her. She hated that they didn't have time. She wanted to fuck him again! That couldn't be healthy. What was happening to her?

"Tyrion," she whispered urgently.

He opened his eyes and he seemed immediately functional. He pulled a sheet over him and Sansa rolled her eyes.

"Modesty? Really?"

"Good morning," he said. "Sorry about…" he pointed at the tent over his groin.

"We don't have time for that," she said. "The sun is out. It might be noon."

He looked toward the window.

"Your room faces toward the east and it's the highest in all the castle."

She looked at him without understanding why he gave her these details.

"It's a lovely room, but-"

"I wanted you to see the sunrise," he said. "If we still have light, it means it's still early morning."

"Oh," she said, not quite calming down.

He raised an eyebrow. "So, if you want… we have time. As long as you don't mind it's on the run."

The servants at Winterfell woke up before dawn. They shouldn't. And yet her dress fell to the floor before she spared a thought to her scars. The tent in Tyrion's sheet rose higher.

A heartbeat later she was in bed, Tyrion sheathed all the way inside her. His mouth was on her breast, suckling at it just the way she liked it. His hand was between her legs, talented fingers drawing small soft circles over her clit, and she was shaking, convulsing around his cock. When he was sure she crested, he sped up his thrusts and came inside her with the same roar she'd heard twice before in the last few hours.

"You can ask the maids anything," he said, while he started to get dressed. "They are loyal and discreet."

"Anything?"

"Yes. Moon tea, anything."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think there's need for that, my lord," she said. "I can't bear children."

"I'm sorry," he said, and stopped doing up his jerkin.

"Get dressed and go," she said fondly. "We weren't very fast. The sun is almost gone from the window."

"I'd apologize for taking too long, but it would be a lie."

"Not complaining, but you have to leave now."

Sansa was still smiling when the door closed after him. She hadn't felt so comfortable in her own body in a long time.

She made the bed, and opened the windows wide. She shivered in the chilly morning air but she had to get the smell of sex out of the room before Arya showed up.

Would the maids find it strange if she requested a bath to be drawn for her so early in the morning? He said she could ask anything. Should she ask for moon tea? Ramsay had tried for months to get her pregnant. Under Myranda's watchful eye, she hadn't been able to do anything to prevent that from happening, and yet it hadn't happened. Fortunately.

Her night with Tyrion was not going to stay a secret. The servants must have heard her. They knew she requested his presence. And they must know that he came to her room. In the middle of the night. Loyal servants? She could believe that. Discreet? Not likely. The best hope she had was to contain the gossip to the castle staff.

She rang a maid and requested a bath. She sat down at the desk and started another letter to Tyrion. One she would most certainly not send.

After her bath, she put on a dress for which she didn't need help. She had red marks from his beard all over her body, and those were to be her secrets and hers alone.

Her fingers danced over buttons as she stared at herself in the mirror. Could anyone tell just by looking at her? Did she look like a woman who had been fucked senseless?

* * *

 **Tyrion**

Tyrion was dozing in his chair in the dragonpit, despite the bright noon sun. The night's activities had exhausted him. He blamed it on age and lack of recent practice in that area. He needed to be better prepared next time. He had a reputation to maintain after all.

Next time. They hadn't talked about a next time.

He startled awake when the two dragons landed. They snorted at him when he passed by and he patted their huge snouts. He waited for Daenerys to descend and after he greeted her formally, he went straight to the issue.

"My Queen, I have to start by making a correction to my note," he said. "Lady Sansa is not here to marry Sandor Clegane herself. She came to arrange the marriage of her sister."

Daenerys looked from him to Jon and held out her hand, laughing. The usual brooding expression on the handsome young lord's face was darkened by a scowl. He reached into his pocket and gave the queen a gold coin.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked, confused.

"I expected this to happen from the day I picked up Clegane and Arya on Drogon. You didn't want to hear," she told Jon. "But the way he looked at your little sister, and how she hanged on to him. That's love."

"But he's so…" Jon said, and shook his head in disbelief.

"Khal Drogo was as tall as the Hound and he looked twice as fierce, yet I loved him so much that when he died, I stepped into the fire to die with him. The heart sees what the eyes don't."

Although she spoke to Jon, her words touched Tyrion's heart. Could he dare to hope that Sansa's heart would see beyond his ugliness?

He set those thoughts aside for another time. They still had to discuss if the marriage should be considered a threat. To the authority to the Iron Throne or to the safety of the Hand.

"If it's Arya marrying him," Jon said, sounding as if he had been forced to drink a gallon of lemon juice, "Then it's her choice, and hers alone. Sansa wouldn't be able to talk her into doing it for House Stark."

"She married Lord Redwyne for House Stark," Tyrion said.

"She did it for me," Jon said, "and for the Queen, not just for the Starks."

Sansa had been the one to ask Arya to marry the first time, but Jon was right. There had been more at stake then than merely the honor of their House.

"Do you agree, my Queen?" he asked.

"What do you think, Lord Tyrion? You're the one who will live with her down the street, as they say in King's Landing?"

He was not entirely sure how much he liked the little Stark girl. She was dangerous and lacked the moral boundaries most took for granted in Westeros. Her husband's oath of fealty might not be enough to stop her from poisoning his wine without anyone's knowledge. The Faceless Men employed methods that didn't leave traces. Accidents. Illnesses. No downright murders that could be traced to them.

"Her reputation scares the living daylights out of me," he said. "But I do not think it's a mean for the Starks to expand into the West. Or to spy on me."

His night with Sansa had pushed the issue from his mind, but he had already considered all the arguments before she called him to her room. He had no opposition to the plan.

Sansa had come to ask his advice and his blessing for the union, but she had not said that if he didn't give them, the relationship between the West and the North would remain as good as they had been in recent years. He could see her being quite pissed off that he refused the one thing her sister had ever requested.

Maybe if he got to know Arya better, he might even start trusting her. Until then, he acceded to the marriage for political reasons.

"We can go on with the wedding then?" he asked.

"Gladly," Daenerys said.

"I want to talk to the Hound," Jon said.

"He should return to lady Redwyne soon," Tyrion said. "She stayed at an inn awaiting the result of my conversation with Lady Stark."

Jon took in a deep breath. Tyrion almost pitied him. He must be imagining quite vividly what the Hound and Lady Redwyne had done that night at the inn. He knew he couldn't take those images out of his head. Especially not after Sansa confirmed how well acquainted those two were.

"There's a new spring in your step, Lord Tyrion," the Queen said as they walked toward the castle. "Does the prospect of a wedding put you in a good mood or you have some news of your own?"

His Queen was way too observant when it came to these things.

"A wedding in the Spring is a beautiful thing, My Queen. It helps us remember that the war is over."

"And it reminds us of what we fought for," she said.

Tyrion looked at her, awed as each time when he realized that for this woman, the Iron Throne was not the purpose, but the means to an end.

 _I will answer injustice with justice._

* * *

 **Sandor**

Not fucking his bride-to-be proved almost impossible. Once Arya got it into her head that he was serious about not fucking, she started tempting him outrageously to do it. She used her hands and her mouth to turn him on, stopping just before he came, to weaken his resolve and bed her properly.

He repaid the frustration she provided with many, intense orgasms, stubbornly refusing to enter her inviting honeyed pussy. He ached for release while his tongue worked to pleasure her. He kept her on her back and did everything he could think of other than thrust his cock inside her.

Morning found both of them exhausted. Arya stood on wobbly knees and stroked and licked and sucked until he came. Her triumphant smile was the last thing he saw before falling asleep.

Next thing he knew, someone was knocking on his door. He looked around for Arya and when he was sure she wasn't there, he opened the door.

"Lady Redwyne would like to remind you that you have to leave before noon," the maid said and curtsied.

He nodded and slammed the door in her face. He got dressed hurriedly and went to the stables to get his horse.

"Lady Redwyne asked you to join her in the carriage," the stable boy said. "She paid us to take care of your horse until you come back to get it. The carriage is already prepared."

He scowled. Lady Redwyne was getting on his nerves. He went to the carriage determined to wait for her, but the door opened immediately.

"Good morning, Ser Sandor," Arya said. "Please, get in. The trip to Casterly Rock is short and we have much to talk about."

He glared at her, but got inside. Arya knocked on the ceiling and the coach took off.

"This is not my place, girl," he said.

"Travelling in a fucking carriage once won't kill you."

He needed her to understand that there were things about himself that he did not want to change. He didn't want to become a nobleman worthy of being related to the Starks. If she wanted him, she should have him as he was.

"Please," she said. "We both need to rest, or we'll fall asleep during the ceremony."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she added quickly.

"Or during our wedding night."

He closed his mouth. That, he did not want. He was done waiting to have her.

They'd slept often enough together, but never in a posh carriage like that. The cushions were too soft. Everything smelt nice. As soon as he found a comfortable position, Arya put her head in his lap. He rested his hand on her breast, cupping it possessively. She smiled with her eyes closed, and he shut his own. He started flicking over her nipple and she slapped the back of his hand lightly.

"That is not helping me fall asleep," she said.

He sighed, and stopped. To be honest, he was getting restless himself to feel that bump hardening under his fingers. They were both asleep when the carriage stopped. His hand went from her breast to his sword when the door opened.

The King did not look happy to see Arya sleeping with her head in his lap. He nudged her awake, and she caressed him in the process of standing up. Jon Snow's eyes followed Arya's fingers up his thigh.

"Your Grace," Sandor said thickly.

"Jon!" Arya said.

Her brother's face lit up when she launched herself into his arms. He spun her around like she was a child. Sandor took advantage of the King's distraction to arrange his ruffled clothes.

"Tyrion says everything is ready for the ceremony," Jon told Arya. "Go get changed."

Arya curtsied sarcastically before running away. Her brother laughed at her retreating back, but when he turned to Sandor, the smile faded.

"I want to talk to you," Jon said.

Sandor followed the young man. He quite liked the King. Probably because he grew up not thinking of himself as a nobleman, Jon didn't piss him off as most knights.

"Is she expecting?" Jon asked.

"What?"

He worked out quickly what the King asked. "No, of course not," he said.

"If she gives birth in the next few months, the child will have claims to the Arbor. No one wants a dispute between the Starks."

"If she gives birth in the next few months," Clegane said through gritted teeth. "That child has a proper claim because I haven't touched her in two years."

He realized what he said when Jon clenched his jaw. He had touched her two years earlier.

"You took advantage of her," he said. "I'm not opposing this marriage because she must believe she loves you if she did all this. When she comes to her senses, and wants to leave you, I'll be there. In the meantime, I will watch you."

It angered him at first, but wisdom had snuck up on Sandor Clegane over the years. He heard a loving brother's concern under the insulting words. Most of the time, he still didn't feel that his third life made up for the things he'd done in his first one, and no loving brother would gladly give his sister to the Hound.

He kept all trace of anger or menace out of his voice. He simply stated how things were and how they will be. King or not, this boy could not change the strength of the bond he shared with Arya.

"Watch all you want," he said. "If she wants to leave me, I won't stand in her way. But I love the crazy wolf bitch and I'll do everything I can so she never wants that."

He stomped into the castle, to get changed for his wedding. Fuck the King!


	11. Sansa POV,,, Tyrion POV

**Sansa**

"Your Grace," Sansa said and curtsied before the Queen.

"Lady Stark," Daenerys said. "You look absolutely radiant."

Sansa startled, and blushed when she met the Queen's eyes. She couldn't know.

The white hair girl puzzled Sansa. She seemed to have access to secrets hidden to everyone else. And although she'd been by the Queen's side when she screamed during her labor pains, she couldn't stop thinking of her as a strange looking child. Same as she still saw Arya as the same tomboy with scraped knees and terrible hair.

"Come, walk with me in the Garden. Jon is eager to talk to Ser Sandor. I would rather not hear that conversation."

She agreed with her on that. Jon was irrationally protective of Arya, even after he sent her to kill an undead dragon. He'd been bitterly opposed to Arya's marriage to Lord Redwyne. Sansa wondered if he expected Arya to become a Septa or something.

"Tell me about Lord Tyrion," the Queen asked. "What was he like before?"

Sansa cast her mind back to the first time she met Tyrion. She'd been afraid of him, when he showed up in Winterfell. To her child's eyes, he was as ugly as Cersei and Jaime were beautiful. She'd been relieved to learn that he wouldn't accompany them back to King's Landing.

The second time she met him, she was kneeling half naked in front of the Iron Throne.

"He was kind when he didn't have to be," she said. "He took risks he knew he shouldn't take. Everyone thought he was a drunk and a fool."

The Queen's raised eyebrow warned Sansa that she was not expecting to hear that. Being around Jon and Tyrion taught Sansa to speak her mind.

"Was he?"

Sansa had thought about it in her long lonely days in Winterfell. When Petyr's ghost kept whispering in her mind. She agreed with her old mentor. A player in Tyrion's position could have won the Game with a wiser strategy. His choices had not been wise, as wisdom was defined in the old Game.

"As things stood then? Yes. Standing up to Joffrey publicly? Annoying Cersei? Foolish choices."

There was another one she did not want to mention. Not getting her with child, as Tywin had demanded.

"I thought he was your friend."

"He is now. Back then? He protected me, as he would have done for any helpless creature who got caught in the Game."

"It's difficult for me to imagine you helpless, Lady Stark" Daenerys said. A gentle reminder of the power Sansa Stark now wielded.

They walked into the inner garden, and unwittingly Sansa led them to what had become her favorite part, the spot from where they could see the Sunset Sea. She tried to get back into the mindset of a player, but the magical night had opened her to truths she had long kept hidden from herself.

"People like Tyrion and your Grace and Jon… shape the world. People like me… get to witness greatness. At best we understand the wonders after they happened."

Daenerys was looking into the horizon.

"You sound very different than when we were in Winterfell," Daenerys said.

"I had much time and many books. Tyrion filled the library while you stayed there. I never got around to asking him if he wanted them back."

She loved those books. They had opened her mind and kept her company. They had prepared her to see Tyrion with more than her eyes. Some of them… some of them had even prepared her for what had happened between them the night before. Come to think of it, there were quite a few things she'd read about that they hadn't tried.

She crossed her arms over her chest when she felt her nipples harden at the thought of Tyrion doing those things to her. She didn't have much imagination, but she was a very quick study. Even so, she wouldn't mind to repeat the first lesson before the Hand furthered her education. Thinking about his title reminded her the Queen herself was standing next to her while she was daydreaming about…

"The ceremony will be shorter than the usual," Sansa said in an unusually high-pitched voice.

She cleared her throat. This thing with Tyrion was going to get her in trouble one way or another.

"Arya asked for the shortest version possible."

"I wonder why," Daenerys said with a knowing smile.

Sansa's own smile was more strained. She could very well imagine why. And for that exact same reason, she wished to talk to Tyrion to find a way to retire as early as it was polite to do. Not that they talked about doing that again.

"She most definitely insisted not to have a bedding ceremony."

Daenerys frowned. "Too bad. I would have quite liked to undress the Hound."

Sansa's eyes widened in surprise. She tried to laugh at the joke, but the Queen's features softened in a melancholic smile.

"He reminds me a lot of my first husband. Shekh Ma Shieraki Anni."

"Khaleesi?" Sansa barely shaped the foreign term.

The Queen shook off her melancholy, but there were tears in her eyes when she looked at Sansa.

"Love is strange, Lady Stark. It sneaks in like a thief. And even after it's gone, it's still there."

Her words echoed in Sansa's mind throughout the day. The Queen talked about her past, but she couldn't help thinking of her change of feelings for Tyrion. She went from fear to hate to gratitude to love.

When Arya had told her how her own feelings for Sandor had evolved, she had nodded and accepted it because she was her strange little sister. Only Arya could fall in love with the man who killed her childhood friend, then kept her prisoner for months.

She realized that her fear of Tyrion for the way he looked had turned to hatred because he was a Lannister, then gratitude for his unreasonable kindness. And then… friendship, surely. Not love. Friendship and lust.

These thoughts, mixed with memories of their night together, distracted Sansa throughout the ceremony. Arya seemed caught up in her own thoughts.

She felt her ears burning when she looked at him. She looked away just before he turned his gaze toward her. What in the seven hells got into her?

She was already getting anxious at the feast when she caught Arya's gaze. Her sister signaled her to come with her outside. She half expected her sister and Sandor to make only a token appearance at the feast and then lock themselves in a room. That's what she would have done. She had a hard time staying put as it was.

Arya walked out discreetly, and Sansa followed her.

"Arya?" she whispered.

"Here."

Only when Arya spoke, Sansa noticed her among the shadows.

"You are too good at this," she said.

"Let's go into the garden," Arya said, and took her hand, almost dragging Sansa after her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Swear to me you will tell no one what I'm about to tell you."

"Arya, what did you do?"

"Nothing! It's… personal."

"I'm not committing treason if I keep your secret?"

Arya paused before answering, which freaked her out.

"No," Arya said. "I'm pretty sure it's not treason." Sansa shot her an annoyed look. "Seriously, it's nothing like that," she added trying to sound reassuring.

"Fine. I swear I will not tell anyone what you tell me."

Arya took in a deep breath, then deflated without speaking.

"Now you have to tell me. You made me swear it, Arya!"

"I need to know if there's anything I should… you know… get ready for…"

She was staring at her sister trying to understand what she meant. Arya hadn't talked like that in all her life. She seemed quite distressed. The girl took another deep breath and finished her confession.

"I've never actually, properly, ever… been with a man."

She couldn't have heard that right. Arya had told her in vivid detail what Sandor had done to her on their way to the Ice Castle. Which… had been pretty much everything except fucking her. Not to mention she'd been married for two years.

"Are you trying to say that you're…still…a…"

"Maiden! Yes," Arya whispered urgently.

"But how?"

"I promise to give you the list of potions I used for Paxter, but not now. Please."

The desperation in her voice made Sansa not bring up the implications of her sister not consummating her marriage to Paxter Redwyne. She thought of what her Septa told her before she married Tyrion. It had been unnecessary for her own first, unconsummated marriage. It had been useless when Ramsay raped her on her second wedding night. She tried to say something soothing.

"It's going to be fine. If he is gentle with you, the pain will be minimal."

"Pain isn't an issue for me," Arya said.

"Then what do you want to know? You already know what has to go where. You both played with those parts enough."

She stopped, embarrassed, and Arya huffed.

"I don't know. You're right. I shouldn't worry."

"Umm," Sansa said. "I know you don't want to hear this now, but… make sure you don't leave blood in the room. It might paint a gruesome picture of how your husband treats you."

Arya sighed.

"Great. Thank you so fucking much. One more thing to worry about."

She hugged the scared little assassin-girl and tried to mess up her braided hair.

"You'll love it. Your husband has the skills he needs to make you very, very happy."

Arya hid her face in Sansa's shoulder and groaned. "My husband."

"Officially and very legally binding, your husband. Come on, let's go back."

"When we leave hall, everyone will know that we went to…"

"Fuck," Sansa whispered the word, delighted by her sister's apparent discomfort. She brought her lips close to her sister's ear. "You're going to take him into the bedroom, and you will fuck until morning. And everyone will know that's what you're doing."

"You are the worst," Arya said blushing crimson before she went back to her husband.

Sansa went to her seat at the table beaming. Since she had arrived at Casterly Rock, two of the most impudent people she knew had flustered in front of her. When she looked at Tyrion, she saw him startle, as if she caught him thinking some very naughty thoughts about her. She held his gaze longer than it would have been appropriate, trying to convey that she couldn't wait to have him in her bed again.

He looked away, and Sansa felt her stomach knotting. What if he was bored with her? He did her a favor, and maybe he saw it as a different kind of challenge. Pleasing whores was challenging because they were used to sex. Pleasing her was a challenge because her previous experience left her broken. What if he wouldn't want to do it again?

* * *

 **Tyrion**

The wedding ceremony had been blessedly brief, and with any luck at the feast he could numb the desire with wine and food. Had she always been so alluring? He could barely focus on what the Queen was saying.

His cock got him in trouble enough in his youth. He was supposed to be wiser now. Less likely to think with his dick.

And yet, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so horny. A glimpse of her was enough to start hardening.

The Queen and King would probably leave for King's Landing in the morning. Clegane and Arya would probably go to Clegane Hall. He had to talk Sansa into staying longer in the West. He needed more time with her. She seemed to be eager to continue her… education with him.

He just had to make it through tonight.

Sometime during the evening, she and her sister disappeared and the look in her eyes when she came back made him lose all interest in the feast. He had to take matters into his own hand if he wanted to make any sense in his conversation with Jon and Daenerys. His private suite was not far.

He excused himself, and hurried toward his private bathroom when Sansa's voice stopped him in the corridor outside the Great Hall.

"My Lord."

He composed himself as best he can before turning to face her.

"How are you enjoying the feast, my lady?"

Not much more than him, by the haunted look on her face. Maybe he was wrong. What if she looked like that because she regretted what happened?

"It's perfect. We can't thank you enough for organizing it on such short notice," she said. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

"Of course."

He led her to his private office.

"Do you want to talk about what happened last night?" he went straight to the point. If she wanted to make sure it didn't happen again, or if she needed him to swear that he would tell no one, he needed to know.

"And this morning," she said, and blushed.

His cock ached at the sight of her breasts rising when she took a deep breath.

"What happened was incredible. So much better than anything I dared to hope…"

"But?" he asked as her voice trailed off.

She went to the table and poured herself a glass of wine. That could not be a good sign.

"But I think there's something wrong with me," she said.

As her friend, he had to make it easy for her.

"There's nothing wrong with you, my lady," he said, and bravely tried to joke. "It's my expert opinion, that everything is as it should be."

"That can't be true," she said. "I…"

"Yes?"

"I've been on my own for years. Never craved a man in my bed, and now… all I think about is… that."

"It disturbed you," he said calmly.

"Yes."

"What bothers you?"

"You made everything perfect, better than I could hope for. And yet… I'm restless."

He had to try his luck. "Do you want me to visit you again?"

"Would you like that?" she asked.

"Sansa, I'd like **that** right now if we had the time," he said.

She fell to her knees in front of him and kissed him. No girlish kisses any more. Sloppy, open mouthed, hungry kisses that made him iron hard. He groaned and fought against the urge to lower her onto the carpet and fuck her on the floor of his office.

"We can't leave the feast before the Queen, can we?" she said, nibbling at his lower lip.

"No," he said. "I'll have to talk to them thinking about burying my face in your pussy."

She gasped. "Now that's what I'm going to think about. While talking to my brother!"

"You should go back to the party," he said. "Better not show up at the same time."

"Gods, I hope they'll retire soon."

"Maybe they want to fuck as much as us," he said.

"I doubt it," muttered Sansa standing up and arranging her dress and hair.

He shook his head watching her leave. Sansa Stark eager to be in his bed. Who would have believed it? He looked down at the bulge in his trousers. He had to calm down by sheer force of will now that he knew he would be with her that night.

When he got back, the bride and groom were gone and Sansa was talking to Jon. He tried not to look at her, but he could see the impatience in her body language.

"We miss you in King's Landing," Daenerys said.

"Rebuilding the West takes time, but I'll return immediately if you ask."

She sighed. "I won't. It was a selfish thought. I miss your wit, and I miss Jon having more time to spend with me and the children."

He was flattered. He knew Jon was doing a good job or the tone in Varys' letters would have been very different. She did miss him, at least a little.

"We should talk about the contract with the Iron Bank while I'm here. We have to make some changes to payments for the loans taken by the Crown."

"Indeed. My sister did not negotiate the best terms with them."

He was doing his best to think about the complicated situation with the Bank, but the blood was not flowing freely to his brain. What was supposed to be a conversation about the important issues of the country felt like torture.

He thought he was getting away with it when the Queen said.

"You are distracted, Lord Tyrion.".

"I beg your pardon, your Grace," he said.

She stood up and he followed suit.

"We'll talk tomorrow, before we leave."

* * *

 **Arya and Sandor's wedding night will be in the last chapter of "Maiden" (or already is there if you read this after Feb 13, 2018). That's their story, and this is more about Sansa and Tyrion's.**


	12. Sansa POV,, 3 months later, Tyrion POV

**Sansa**

Jon hugged her warmly when they said good night.

"Be happy if you can," he whispered before letting go. "Sorry for keeping you so late," he said.

She wondered what he meant. Wedding feasts could last for several days and nights. Not that there was anything regular about this one. Arya's wedding had been attended only by the Queen, the King and two of the four Wardens of Westeros.

Daenerys smiled at her before exiting the Great Hall, and Sansa was sure she knew about her and Tyrion. She stayed rooted to the spot, realizing that she didn't mind. People had laughed at her or pitied her when she was the Imp's wife. Fear of Joffrey was the only thing that kept the shame from crushing her the first time.

She went to her room, wondering about what their lives would've been like if Tyrion had made other choices back then. She might have found pleasure in his bed, young as she was, disgusted as she was of him.

In her room, she put on a simple night dress and unbraided her hair. She brushed it with slow movements, picturing her younger self caressed and loved by her husband.

A discreet knock brought her back to the present. Her hardened nipples pushed against the fabric of her night dress. Heat pooled in her belly. The present was far more compelling than any might-have-beens.

"Come in," she said.

Tyrion was wearing the same clothes he'd worn at the feast.

"I had to take care of some things for the morning," he said. "They leave tomorrow and I needed to make sure everything is ready…"

"What?" she asked when he fell silent.

"You," he whispered. "Brushing your hair. Dressed for bed. Waiting for me. It's something out of my dreams."

"Don't you resent me? Even a little?"

"For what?"

"For the way I was with you."

"You were frightened. After your father… and then Joffrey…"

She hung her head. It was an excuse, and they both knew it. Wouldn't it be easier if she just accepted his explanation and let go?

"I told you I would never want to share your bed."

He came near her chair. While she was sitting down, they were at eye level. Seeing him so close, she could see the lines age had put on his face, not just the scars. She felt the years between them as strongly as she did on their wedding night. Unlike then, she wanted his approval this time.

"You were wrong."

Sansa leaned in and kissed his lips delicately. "The Queen knows."

"She suspects," he said.

Their lips brushed against each other's while they spoke.

"And Jon," she said.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, and deepened the kiss. His response was weaker than she expected.

"Does it bother you?" she asked.

Confusion flickered on his face. "I should be the one asking that."

"The world has changed, my lord."

He shivered in her arms when she said it. She used the title fondly, as if the word husband came after it.

"Maybe I died, and this is my afterlife," he said while she kissed his neck and her hands were working on getting him out of his jerkin. "I can't imagine what I did in life to deserve this, though."

"You flatter me," she said, kissing her way down his exposed chest.

"Outrageously," he admitted, making her smile. "Don't stop."

She beamed at the pleading note in his voice as she traced his hardening cock, pushing shamelessly against the fabric of his trousers. The books she'd read didn't cover the practical aspects of undressing a man, and Sansa enjoyed exploring it for herself. There was a heady power to knowing the man in front of her wanted nothing more than her touches.

He thrummed with expectation while she tugged at his trousers, but didn't shed them himself.

"You left a lot of books in Winterfell," she whispered, nibbling at his ear.

"What?"

"Incredibly dull, so many of them. But there were others…"

"Fuck," he cursed when she got his cock out.

"Yes, please."

He wrapped her hand around his cock. Sansa gasped when she felt it harden and grow under her touch. His free hand fisted in her hair and pulled her into an urgent kiss. She fell to her knees to be closer to him.

"Nearly fucked you like this in my office," he said, lowering her to the floor.

The fire in his voice burned through her. Her very core pulsated with need, craving to have him inside again.

His cock slipped out of her hand when he positioned himself on top of her. He bunched up her night dress and spread her legs with a knee. Sansa moaned as he started pushing inside her. His thick shaft sunk into her, deeper with each impatient thrust until he was completely engulfed in her throbbing pussy.

Sansa let go of all memories and regrets, enjoying the moments of pure bliss. Waves of pleasure rose inside her. She ran her fingers through Tyrion's hair. When he looked up, his focused expression bordered on agony.

"Don't hold back," she whispered.

"I'm too close." He struggled to say the words, buried inside her, not moving for fear of breaking apart. She felt him pulsate, on the brink of finishing.

"Let go."

He came smoothly, as if she pulled at the end of a ribbon to untie a perfect bow. He remained there, his head resting on her breast, listening to her heart while her own body calmed down after the rush of her climax.

"I can't help feeling I should apologize for taking you on the floor," he said.

"I can't help wondering what it would have been like if we did it in your office earlier."

"Lady Sansa, you have a naughty streak."

"You finally noticed!"

"Please say you won't leave in the morning," he said.

"I won't leave in the morning."

"Or the day after tomorrow."

She hadn't heard this shade of desperation in Tyrion's voice in all the years they had known one another.

"Or the day after tomorrow," she said.

She put a finger over his lips when he was about to speak.

"I can't stay as long as I wish."

He kissed her finger, then he took her hand in his, and kissed it respectfully. His kisses went up her arm and lost all traces of respectability.

They spent the next few days and nights wrapped up into one another. When her carriage left Casterly Rock, Sansa's heart was light. For the first time in her life, she had warm memories to keep her company.

A part of her held hope that she was wrong about being barren. As soon as she imagined a child, clouds came in her soul. A child born to the heads of Houses Stark and Lannister, even out of wedlock, would create many problems.

And yet, Sansa was smiling. If they were to have a child, she and Tyrion would find a way to work it out.

* * *

 **Three months later**

 **Tyrion**

After their unexpected reconnection, his correspondence with Sansa increased in frequency. Due to the distance between them, they were forced to have at least two conversations at the same time. They wrote to each other every week, but the letters took longer than two weeks to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell.

In his previous letter, which still hadn't reached Sansa, Tyrion had told her that the Queen and King would be attending the Royce-Frey wedding. One of the girls that survived Arya's visit was marrying Albar Royce.

The shadow of the Red Wedding still hung over the Twins, and Darenerys wanted to give them a chance to cleanse it. Tyrion expressed his regrets for not attending. The head of House Lannister should be there, to show remorse for their involvement in the massacre. However, the Hand of the Queen should be in the Capital in her absence, even if she'd only be gone for two days.

The letter he received that morning from Sansa informed him that she was going to attend the wedding in person. He had expected her to want to face that dreadful place, as she had faced all the monsters of her past. And yet until he'd seen it in her own writing, he hadn't realized how much he wanted to attend that wedding. For a whole different reason than expiating for his family's sins.

The wedding was the very next day. Daenerys and Jon would get to the Twins in a few hours flying on their dragons. It would take him a full week by Queensroad, and by that time, Sansa would be on her way back to Winterfell.

He tried to put the matter out of his mind, but when his audience with the Queen was at an end, he couldn't help himself.

"Your Grace, I have a favor to ask."

She raised an eyebrow, and nodded for him to go on. He hadn't asked her for anything personal before. She had always given him honors, and lands, and most of all, her trust without him ever asking.

"I would like to attend the wedding at the Twins. My father was the architect of the Red Wedding. People must know that House Lannister is different now."

"Of course. You can ride with me. Be at the Dragonpit in the morning."

He bowed his head, ashamed to have concealed from her the most important reason he wanted to be there.

#

His heart beat faster when Sansa walked in the great hall than when he'd been flying across Westeros on the back of a fire breathing dragon. She looked thinner than last time he'd seen her. That crushed his unreasonable hope that, despite not mentioning it in her letters, she carried his child.

He held his breath, and took in her beauty before he had to untangle his tongue to talk to her as if they were mere acquaintances. Her dress was far from the colorful, revealing garments she wore in Casterly Rock. She had come to a wedding, but he knew from her letter that she came to make peace with the death of her mother and brother.

She must have sensed his gaze, because she turned her head toward him. Her sad eyes lit up when they landed on him. He hurried toward her.

"Lady Stark, it's good to see you again."

He bowed respectfully, and she curtsied.

"My Lord Hand, I didn't know you'd be here."

"Couldn't stay away," he said so quietly that only she could hear him.

Her skin flushed and her eyelids fluttered. She squeezed his hand tightly when he accompanied her at her seat next to Robin Arryn. A few vague pleasantries with the Warden of the East, and he went to his own seat, by the Queen.

"Your sister looks gaunt," Daenerys was telling Jon. "Is it just this place or something else troubles her?"

"Being here, at a wedding… is not easy on any of us. But I have a wife I love and two children. All Sansa has to go back to are the stones of Winterfell."

Tyrion's jaw clenched. Sansa's loneliness weighed heavily on him. He wanted her to be happy, and yet… his heart was going to break into a million pieces when she would find someone to make her happy.


	13. Sansa POV Tyrion POV

**Sansa**

From his letter, Sansa understood Tyrion's regret that he couldn't be at the wedding to atone for his father's sins. She knew all too well that duty always came first for people like them. The Hand of the Queen should stay in the Capital while the Queen was away.

Her heart had shrunk at the awareness that his sense of duty was stronger than his urge to see her again. Tyrion had been very straightforward about wanting to meet again. She had assured him that she wished that as well. She had not sent any of the letters in which she described why she wanted to see him again. In fact, those letters were consigned to the flames on her way from the desk to the bed where she played out her fantasies.

And yet, there he was. In the same room as her. Looking at her in a way that left her breathless. Telling her plainly that he couldn't stay away.

Three months since he had last touched her.

At the wedding feast, she took another sip of wine, trying to force her mind back to the conversation with Sweetrobin. She loved the young man like another little brother, and worried about his unwillingness to find a wife. What if the way Lyssa brought him up had left him stuck in a perpetual childhood?

 _'Find him a wife you can control. It wouldn't be good for anyone if the East isn't run properly._

 _'I'm not your creature anymore, Lord Baelish.'_

 _'You never were. But now you can't blame it on me anymore. These are your thoughts, because you are a planner. A schemer. Like me. Like the Lannisters.'_

 _'I'm not like them.'_

 _'You can't lie to me. I am you. I feel how your desires drive you. Do you understand me better now? Do you start to understand Cersei? Now when you want Tyrion the way you do?'_

She cringed. She'd always wondered in disgust how could Cersei do that with her own brother. Maybe Jaime had forced her at first, but after marrying Robert… why hadn't she stopped? But one couldn't stop wanting something just because it was forbidden.

 _'Enough.'_

Tyrion was looking somberly into his glass. He seemed clearly unhappy about something the Queen was telling Jon. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to have the right to walk to him, and take his hand. She wanted to go back to the time they walked the streets as man and wife while the others laughed at them.

Maybe she couldn't be with him in broad daylight, but she could still share his bed. Her life with Petyr taught her many things. One of them was that nobles rarely look at servants. Another was how to change the color of her hair. Her sewing skills were going to come in very handy, too. She knew exactly how she could alter one of her dresses to make it look like a maid's outfit.

She left the table a few times, gathering ingredients for the temporary dye while everyone enjoyed the feast. Everyone except Tyrion apparently. Well, she would do something about his mood as soon as they retired.

At least this time it wasn't going to be unseemly if she retired before the Queen. No one would blame her for not enjoying the room where her mother and Robb had been killed. She grimaced at the thought. That pain was in the past. She should let it fade away. They would want her to be happy.

She looked at Tyrion again. That strange man made her happy.

#

She altered her dress, dyed her hair, and snuck out of her room. Although she had left the feast early, the preparations had taken her a couple of hours. When she peeked in the great hall, very few people were still there, drinking and laughing. The Queen, Jon and Tyrion were gone.

If her assumption was correct, they had retired to their rooms. Which was exactly what she wanted. All she had to do was to find out which was Tyrion's bedroom.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage. What was she doing? Why was she taking this chance? She realized that it was the first time in three months when she felt her heart beating in her chest. As if the rest of the time she'd been more dead than alive.

It didn't change the fact that if anyone recognized her, she'd be the laughing stock of Westeros. Most people had grown to respect Tyrion but they'd still make fun of her for sneaking into his room. In high society, sex out of wedlock was common, yet not openly accepted.

Maybe she should have asked Arya for some lessons. She gathered her courage and approached one of the Frey servants. His squinty stare told her that his eyesight wasn't very sharp.

"Good evening," she said and curtsied to the old man.

"Evening, miss," he said.

"Lady Stark asked me to deliver a message to Tyrion Lannister, but I don't know where his room is. Can you help me, please?"

"The Queen and her people are staying in the Eastern wing. The Lord Hand's room is in the tower at the end of the passage."

"Thank you," she said and curtsied again.

Two Queensguard stood at the entrance to the Eastern wing. It could be very embarrassing if they figured out who she was or if they asked her for some proof that she was her own maid. What if they thought she was a danger to the Queen and raised an alarm?

Her freely flowing black hair and the ample cleavage of her maid outfit seemed to keep their eyes off her face. They accepted her claim that she had to deliver a message to Tyrion. One of Queensguards accompanied her past the large doors which probably opened in Daenerys and Jon's room.

"Up there," the guard said when they reached the bottom of a flight of stairs. "I'll escort you back after you deliver the message."

"Umm," Sansa said looking down. Her hair fell even more over her face. "It might take a while. I'm, umm, supposed to take his message."

"Hmpf," he snorted. "Riiight. Message."

He walked away shaking his head. Apparently, Tyrion's reputation as a womanizer hadn't changed. She noticed an unexpected thrill. Even if they didn't know who she was exactly, the guards would know when she was going to have sex with Tyrion. And she liked it.

She opened the door without knocking. Tyrion was at the desk, writing. He didn't look up from his paper when he heard the door.

"If you're an assassin, you're terrible at stealth."

She closed, and bolted the door. They didn't need to be interrupted for the next few hours.

"Wrong sister," she said.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice.

"Sansa!"

* * *

 **Tyrion**

He recognized her voice, but when he first looked at her he was taken aback by the change. The maid's dress didn't do justice to her body, but the mane of black hair gave her an aura of mystery and danger.

"The guards think that you requested company for the night," she said.

Her tone suggested that she didn't mind. Her smile was also new. Delighted and mischievous. And yet, he needed her to know he wouldn't do something like this. He wouldn't ask a serving wench to come to his room. Even back when he still paid for sex, he didn't request house calls. He hadn't even visited brothels in a long time.

"It's lucky they're from the Queen's retinue," he said, walking toward her. "My guards know that I don't do this."

"You don't?" she asked, her blue eyes half black already. Her heavy lidded gaze was setting him on fire. "Will you make an exception?"

Her whispered, insinuating tone slid into his mind. She was already on her knees when he reached her. Her elegant arms wrapped around his shoulders and they began kissing hungrily.

His body stood to attention, but he steadfastly ignored it. He was not going to take her on the cold floor. Not when the bed was close and so perfectly suited for his height. He had noticed that earlier and in the letter he was writing her, he described in detail how he wanted to take her. Now he had the opportunity to act out his fantasy.

"In bed," he commanded.

Sansa stood up on shaky legs, and went to bed.

"Here, sit on the edge," he said getting his cock out.

He pushed up her dress and spread her legs. She gasped and shuddered while ran his fingers through the tawny fuzz. Further down, the curls were already damp. He shoved a couple of greedy fingers inside her, denying himself the satisfaction of burying his cock to the hilt.

"Oh, gods," she whispered, and whined when he removed his fingers.

He was too desperate to be with her. He knelt between her legs and let his tongue worship her until she came. He stood up during her orgasm and slammed his cock all the way inside her. He hadn't been with a woman since her visit. It took a few frenzied thrusts and he ejaculated forcefully inside her.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately.

"For… what?"

She was panting. Her legs were shaking, her skin was flushed. He knelt between her creamy thighs again and kissed her swollen clit. Sansa mewled and clenched her fists in the bedding. Encouraged, he ran his tongue softly over her sensitized flesh, and he was rewarded with a new series of gasps and moans and a breathless repetition of his name while her body quivered.

He climbed into bed next to her and Sansa pulled him on top of her. His spent cock smeared her dress with their mingled essences. They kissed again, more tenderly and leisurely.

"How are you doing this to me?" she asked.

The look of wonder in her eyes seared his soul. He knew that it wasn't his physical prowess alone that caused her body to respond. This beautiful woman cared for him. There was no aphrodisiac so potent like love.

"With my heart," he said.

She pulled him back in a kiss, but he noticed the tears sparkling in her eyes.

'My wife,' he thought. 'This is as much as we can ever have. Stolen moments, behind closed doors.'

#

For the next few months, they kept seeing each other at weddings, funerals, fairs and other public events. And they kept their love secret, pursuing their desire under the cover of darkness.

With Sansa's permission, Tyrion told the Queen, so that she wouldn't think they were plotting against the Iron Throne. As a consequence, Daenerys didn't pressure him to get married, but the matter of succession for House Lannister and House Stark sometimes came up in small council meetings.

Varrys never looked at him when he provided information about possible matches for Lady Stark.

He tried to rid himself of the illusion that Sansa would remain unmarried. He knew all too well how alive and vibrant she was. Some day, maybe some day soon, she would find someone more suitable than a dwarf fifteen years older than her.

But each time he almost managed to convince himself that she'd be better off without him, they had the opportunity to meet again in some corner of Westeros, attending an event neither of them cared about, and all that mattered was that he could hold her in his arms one more night.


	14. Sansa

**A year later**

 **Sansa**

She missed him. She should give up on this impossible relationship, and look for someone closer to home. The problem with that plan was that all the men she met made her skin crawl at the mere thought of touching them. And none of them made her laugh.

Tyrion made her laugh at the boring or absurdly unimportant events they attended for hidden benefits. He provided orgasms at night and cheer during the day. How was she supposed to accept anything less?

Since she received the raven postponing their meeting a second time, Sansa felt her heart break a little more under the weight of all that loneliness. She hadn't even sent a reply.

A week later, another raven came. With the Hand's sigil, not the Lannisters', as all of his previous letters and messages.

 _"My Lady Stark, I ask permission to visit Winterfell. I am boarding a ship bound North. I will arrive in White Harbor in a few days."_

An unexpected visit from the Hand of the Queen. Daenerys hadn't mentioned anything special when she and Jon had visited Winterfell a fortnight earlier.

 _"My Lord Hand. You are always welcome to Winterfell."_

Her reply would wait for his arrival in White Harbor. In the meantime, she summoned her vassals, and prepared a reception befitting the first visit of the Hand of the Queen since the end of the War four years earlier.

The cold autumn weather reminded her Tyrion's first visit. She made sure the castle was warm for his arrival. He was partial to spring and summer, and he had never enjoyed the harsh climate so far north.

When she was informed that his retinue approached, she walked into the courtyard crowded by the representatives of all the Houses of the North. He seemed taken aback by the number of people.

"Welcome to Winterfell, my Lord Hand," she said.

"Thank you, lady Stark. It is an honor to be here again. Does my arrival interrupt an important event?"

She smiled. "Your arrival is the event, my Lord. We wanted to welcome the Hand of the Queen with the due respect."

A shadow passed over his features so briefly that no one else caught it. He couldn't doubt that she respected him, could he? Despite their very informal meetings over the past year and a half, her respect for him or his office had never wavered.

He was unusually serious while her vassals greeted him. It was the wise thing to do with the sober noblemen of the North, but Tyrion didn't enjoy acting wisely. She still had to find out the reason for his unexpected visit. It wasn't just because he missed her. She made sure he knew that they should always put duty before their private desires. No matter how much it had hurt her to do so.

They both knew they should marry in order to keep their Houses strong, but they never dwelled on the matter. She didn't want to know what women he considered making Lady of the Rock. He would never know how many men she had forced herself to imagine in her bed.

When he finished shaking hands and exchanging polite words with each of the people gathered for his arrival, Sansa led him to the small room which had served as his private office during the War. They had spent many hours alone there, taking stock of the situation and planning. The moments with him alone, in that room, had sustained her while Arya had gone to kill the dragon-wight Viserion.

She sat down in the same chair as some five years earlier. He remained standing. The very lack of fidgeting worried her. She readied herself for bad news, but firmly refused to weave suppositions of the worst things that could have happened.

"Whatever it is, tell me directly," she said.

"Yes, my Lady. I want to start by assuring you that whatever your answer is, my affection for you will remain unchanged."

The words she told him before asking him to bed her. He wouldn't be so heartless to use them if the request he had of her was of a political nature. It was something personal. Blood drained from her cheeks and despite herself, she formulated her fear. The Queen had sent him to make her marry someone.

"Understood," she said.

He bent the knee in front of her, as she had only seen him do in front of Daenerys. Her heart sped up as panic rose inside her.

"Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen, first of her Name, released my brother Jaime from his vows as Queensguard. He is now the lord of Casterly Rock, Head of House Lannister and Warden of the West. I hold no lands, and my only title is that of Hand of the Queen, for as long as she will need me."

He paused, and Sansa spoke slowly, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Jon has been acting Hand of the Queen while you were in the West. The Queen can release you from your position as Hand any time she wants. You have no lands, and you will have no claim to Casterly Rock when Jaime has children."

"Precisely," he said.

"Tyrion, why are you telling me this?"

"Because you have to know that I have nothing to offer you other than myself. Will you marry me?"

"You asked her to release your brother, didn't you? You gave up everything. If I say no…"

"I'll still love you."

"But if I say yes… you can stay here."

"I swore to the Queen to return and serve as Hand when she needs me, whether you marry me or not."

"You are mad," she said.

He stood up slowly. His voice was eerily devoid of emotion when he spoke.

"The Rock never mattered much to me. I did my part in rebuilding the West. Working for the Wardeness of the North is no different."

"Working for me?" she exclaimed.

He shrugged. "If you allow it, I would serve as your advisor."

"Serve? What are you talking about?"

She knew him well enough to read pain in his apparently serene countenance. "I shouldn't have presumed that you would want me to stay in another capacity. I'll leave as soon as it's appropriate."

"Leave? You just asked me to marry you!"

"And you did not accept."

He said it softly, with no trace of reproach. She sighed.

"Don't scare me like that again," she said. "Of course, I want to marry you. I thought that was clear."

"Oh," he said, sounding in equal parts happy and embarrassed. "I, umm, I was afraid you'd say no."

"You gave up a quarter of Westeros to be my husband and you thought I'd say no?"

"Yes, well, you're so…"

"Don't say beautiful," she said, seeing the word forming on his lips.

He pretended to stumble on his own tongue.

"… powerful. Fearsome. Tall."

"That tongue of yours will get you into trouble," she said, and she was smiling when she kissed him.

This had been the room Tyrion had used most during the War. The low desk had always struck her as being the perfect height for him. Not just to look at maps, but also to… do things to her. She had exercised her imagination coming up with positions in which he could take her using it.

She unbuttoned his jerkin, trying to find the words to ask him to bend her over the desk and enter her from behind.

"Sansa? Are you sure?" he asked.

"No one will bother us in this room," she assured him.

He grinned, and helped her undo his laces.

"I meant about marrying me."

His words turned into a moan when her small hand encircled his cock, and she started stroking it.

"Astoundingly thick…"

"What?"

"Cock. You have one."

And it was growing thicker under her touches.

"It took me a long time to get over that remark about my neck," she said. "For a while I thought you were trying to be mean to me."

Tyrion's breathing was speeding up, and Sansa considered making him come with her hand. He never allowed himself to come anywhere but deep inside her. Always aware that they had precious little time to enjoy each other with other games.

"I wasn't," he said. "You were almost as beautiful as you are now."

"You're beautiful to me now. Fourteen-year-old me would have never believed it."

"Is that your way of saying that you marry me for my physical attributes?"

"Well…" she drawled. "You made sure I don't marry you for your money." She bowed her head and kissed the tip of his cock. "Or your lands."

"Fuck," he rasped when she took him in her mouth. "Please, stop," he begged. "I don't want to come so quickly."

She felt the tension in his body, and bobbed her head back and forth one more time, choking on his impossibly hard cock. She let it slip out of her mouth regretfully.

"The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can make arrangements for our marriage," she said. "But if you'd rather postpone it…"

He kissed her fiercely. "I don't," he said. "Turn around and I'll promise to finish in no time."

That was her favorite position. They had been forced to avoid it since Casterly Rock because she came hard and loudly when he took her from behind. She stuck her bottom in the air and pressed her mouth onto her forearm.

He sank into her smoothly, invading her eager pussy in one thrust. The muffled groan of pleasure was dangerously loud. If he didn't finish fast, she wouldn't be able to keep down the volume of her cries. He reached between her legs and swept over her clit. It was his turn to groan when her inner walls clamped down on his cock.

True to his word, he finished immediately.

"Can we get married now?" he asked, panting.

"Yes. Let me get my breath back first."

Sansa rearranged her dress, while he tucked himself back in his trousers. She flopped back down in her chair, and watched him re-lace his jerkin.

"You are beautiful," he said, pulling a chair next to hers. "And you are powerful now. And fearsome. And tall."

He smiled and she smiled back.

"And you love me," he finished.

She laced her fingers through his.

"You're scary smart," she said. "And stupid brave. And used to be rich."

She grinned, and he grinned back, but his eyes sparkled when she said:

"And you love me."

* * *

 _ **Notes**_

They deserved an epic ending, with more witty dialogue, but when it comes to their relationship, they didn't seem willing to be too funny. At least they're happy together.

I am not going to write it, but in my head Jaime will resort to asking Brienne's help in his new position. He has the responsibility to carry on the Lannister name (maybe Daenerys made it a condition of his release that he should marry and have children). So he asks her to marry him, and promises her respect, friendship, trust in exchange for her having his children. He tries to be straightforward about his emotional damage and that he will be unable to love her or their children. Except... of course he does love her and when they have children, he does love them, too.


End file.
